


We're Here

by angryeet



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Glenn Rhee Lives, Grimes Family 2.0, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, NO ACTUAL NONCON OCCURS BUT THE WARNING’S THERE JUST IN CASE, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Perceived Rape/Non-Con, The Grimes family DESERVES THE WORLD, This is fic is just ppl screaming internally and externally, mood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-03-02 11:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 37,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13317366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angryeet/pseuds/angryeet
Summary: Negan stood over Rick, unbuckling his belt. The belt was going to be a tourniquet, but only Negan knew that. Carl didn’t.Carl saw something else. The road to terminus. The Claimers. In the twisted picture his mind has painted, he and his dad have swapped places.Funny how lost you can get in your own mind.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got inspiration for this fic when I was looking through a thread about the Walking Dead a while ago. I can't find the site or the exact post, so here's the gist of it: 
> 
> In the scene in S7ep01 "The Day Will Come When You Won't Be", there's a scene where Negan takes off his belt to use as a tourniquet for Carl's arm. The way Negan is standing over Rick while taking his belt off, with Carl watching, was oddly similar to S4ep16 "A". In "A", the Claimer trying to rape Carl takes off his belt while Rick is forced to watch. The thread pointed out the similarity of the scenes and I couldn't help but wonder what it would've been like if Carl had realized the similarity too. So now you have this!
> 
> Also, I really want to write some more, so I guess I'm taking requests! If you have something you may want me to write, leave a comment describing it. But the Grimes family is my fave, so unfortunately I'll only be taking requests (if any) on the Grimes family.
> 
> This isn't my first fanfic, but it's my first work for The Walking Dead, so have mercy. Feedback is MUCH appreciated! Tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, etc. If you see something that doesn't look good, point it out. Don't hold back (but pls don't roast me about it). I'm 99% sure I'll have a second chapter, but I'm not entirely sure of what to write it on. I have a few ideas, but feel free to give me some ideas of your own. 
> 
> Trigger Warning for Non-Con elements. There's also Angst and Mental Health Issues. Remember- leave a comment!

          

 

         They both remembered that night.

How couldn’t they? It had been a dangerously close call. But in this new, gone-to-utter-shit world, they had always faced close calls. But that….that night had been different.

          Rick had thought, up until that moment, that there wasn’t much innocence that could be taken from Carl. Carl hadn’t thought it either, because, apocalypse or not, he was still a _child_ . Yet there was still some innocence that could be taken away. That Claimer, that _piece of_ **_shit_ ** , tried to take it from Carl. His name had been Dan, apparently, but that didn’t matter.

          That Claimer tried to _rape_ Carl.

          Some might say that in this new world, where people killed on a daily basis, rape wasn’t that bad. Here’s the thing. Killing was a survival tactic. If need be, you killed somebody. If they tried to hurt you or the people you cared about, you killed them. Murder was what it was called in the old world. It wasn’t any better now. But it was for survival. You didn’t  _rape_ somebody for survival. You didn’t force yourself on a young boy for survival. You didn’t molest him and shove him down in front of his father for survival.

          Carl remembered feeling scared because he thought they were going to kill him, Dad, Michonne, Daryl. That was it. The Claimer had looked at him weirdly, but Carl had just thought he was some sadistic fuck who liked killing people.

          Then that giant wall of a man shoved him down. Somehow, he knew. He knew right away, from the second the Claimer started laughing maniacally. Carl cried out, flailing, twisting, trying as hard as he could to get away. He felt the desperation sink in when the Claimer smiled wickedly down at him. All of that had been imprinted into him. He remembered all of that clearly.

          Rick remembered the exact moment he had just….snapped. One moment, he couldn’t breathe, not because there was a gun to his temple, but because his son was being manhandled by some asshole. Joe had leaned down a bit, and had began saying the normal I-won-and-I’m-going-to-rub-it-in bullshit.

          “First, we’re going to beat Daryl to death. Then we’ll have the girl.” Rick felt his heart start pounding at that. There was no way he was letting that happen, even if he was stuck sitting with a gun to his temple.“Then the boy. Then I’m gonna shoot you and then we’ll be square.”

          Joe finished his words with a chuckle. Rick froze. _Then the boy._

          Across from him, Carl was shoved down by that giant man, who followed the boy to the ground with a grin. Carl cried out, flailing and twisting to get away from the Claimer. And Rick felt his blood run cold, then hot, then both.

          “Let him go,” he gritted out, almost shaking with whatever it was that was coursing through him. The Claimer holding his son down laughed, and Carl...Carl started to whimper, to sob, to wail. Rick repeated himself again and again, rage building up within him.

          And then Rick’s head snapped back. The gunshot rang loudly next to his ear, and he found himself struggling to pull his head together, the ringing overtaking every sound except his own breathing. Rick breathed deeply yet shallowly at the same time, trying to get his bearings. Time seemed to slow down, if only for a moment.

         He sprung up then, twisting around and throwing his fist at Joe. Joe slugged Rick across the face and knocked him back down, grumbling taunts at the former Sheriff.  A kick from Joe sent him onto his front, leaving Rick scrambling to get up.

          “Come on, get up!” Joe spat.

          The combination of Carl’s shrieking, the Claimer’s laughter, and Daryl’s grunts of pain was almost too much for his disoriented state. He glanced up almost deliriously, taking in Daryl getting beaten like a bad dog, Michonne getting knocked down to her knees, and _Carl_ _crying_ and kicking under the Claimer above him. Joe said something to him. A few seconds later he deciphered it.

          “Come on. Let’s see what you got.”

          But Rick couldn’t focus on that. Because _that_ Claimer hit Carl across the face, knocking the boy’s breath away, and turned him over, laughing all the while as Carl cried out, struggling futilely.

          Carl remembered struggling. It was pointless, because he still ended up face down on the ground. Carl felt tears form as he kicked and sobbed, feeling almost embarrassed for a moment before the panic set back in. The Claimer laughed cruelly, maliciously _gleeful_ over what he was doing to a child. Then the Claimer unbuckled his belt.

         Somehow, that noise was what had haunted him for the days following that night. The sound of that Claimer unbuckling his belt, overtaking the Claimer’s laughter and the distant sounds of struggle. The Claimer unbuckled his belt, and everything rushed at Carl. He...he was going to be raped. In this shitty, horrible world, he was going to be raped as his family around him was beaten, threatened, _hurt._

          Rick watched Carl being shoved onto his front, rage shooting through Rick. He stumbled onto his feet, snarling, trying to get to his son, his child, his little boy- who was going to be raped. How had he never thought of this possibility? The world had turned upside down; all laws were out the window. People murdered all the time, and he was aware that rape came with it. But he was not letting this happen. He’d stop this, he’d end it, he’d get Carl and Michonne and Daryl to safety.

          “ ** _Leave_** **_him be_** -!” Rick growled loudly and lunged forward, towards Carl, yet somehow ended up hurtling into Joe who seemed to be enjoying Rick’s desperate struggle.

          “Huh?” Joe barked, “Get over here!”

          Joe’s arms enclosed Rick, holding him away from Carl, from stopping what was _happening_ to Carl and everybody else who was counting on him.

          “What the hell are you going to do now, sport?” Joe taunted wickedly, baring his teeth at Rick. Rick _seethed_. A howl tried to tear out of his throat, raw and furious, but something stopped it. A single moment of internal silence. And then it happened.

          It happened in a second, really.

          How could they? Rick had killed their man, _he_ had strangled Lou or whatever the hell his name was, _Rick_ was responsible. Their anger at _him_ made sense. But raping a child? A little boy? Somebody who might, just might, have some innocence left in them, in the cold new world that tore at them and their family each and every day? Rape somebody so young who had seen so much in their life that they shouldn’t have, forced to grow up in this world? Add another type of trauma to them, take more away from them, hurt them, _destroy them_ like that?

          The pressure steadily built in his head and while he was dead silent on the outside, his inner voice was screaming itself raw, louder and louder until it was all he could hear. Except for Carl. Rick ‘s body went cold, then hot, then both at the same time, and he saw red, red, so much _red_ and his body shook so much it wasn’t _actually_ shaking and he heard his little boy crying out and something in him _snapped_.

          Carl was facing Rick, watching his father’s skirmish with Joe, and he saw it happen too.

          Rick’s head reared back, and then he dove forward. His bared teeth locked down and he just _tore_ out Joe’s throat. One second Joe was snarling taunts and the next he was gurgling on his own blood, his jugular ripped out. Joe slowly sunk down to the ground as his blood dripped from Rick’s teeth, which were still clenching down on the flesh from Joe’s throat. Blood dripped down Rick's mouth, painting the lower half of his face in dark red. And everybody froze.

          The Claimers and his people alike stared with shock and varying levels of horror at Rick as he spit out the chunk of Joe’s flesh. The flesh soared and hit the ground in a spray of a bloody mist. The silence broke, and somewhere to his left, Michonne sprung to action. She shot the man holding the gun to her head and then one of the men attacking Daryl. Daryl was more than ready and knocked down the other shithead. He raised his foot, and curb stomped the other man’s skull into the ground.

         But none of that had mattered because the Claimer who had tried to hurt Carl was still living and breathing and he _shouldn’t be_.

          The Claimer’s mouth dropped open, his hand drifting away from the back of Carl’s head in fear. Carl felt himself being pulled up, but his mind was still lingering on what had just happened a few moments ago. Rick, his father, who had never truly stopped being Carl’s hero, had torn out Joe’s throat Walker-style. His dad had just ended Joe then and there, and with the blood covering half his face and the feral rage in his eyes, Carl felt a little scared too, as Rick knelt and took Joe’s knife and had stared at the man, the rapist, holding a blade to Carl’s neck.

          Part of Carl had been scared, for just the tiniest bit, but then he felt nothing but relief and almost awe and an avalanche of other emotions as his father advanced on the Claimer who had tried to rape him.

          “He’s mine,” Rick had growled lowly, looking like some sort of God of Death as he stalked towards the Claimer. The Claimer shoved Carl away, and attempted a strangled cry of “Please” before Rick utterly destroyed the large man. The blade entered first into the man’s crotch. Rick pulled out the knife and savagely sunk it back into the man’s flesh. It was dragged stutteringly up the bleeding body, up to the Claimer’s throat, slicing open muscle and spilling the blood onto the earth below. The Claimer gurgled on the knife and the blood. He attempted to form one last plea for his life, one that was utterly ignored. Carl stared, feeling almost detached from the whole scene.

          Michonne swept Carl up into her arms, already playing the role of Mrs. Grimes even before she and his dad had gotten together—that, and she genuinely cared for Carl. And Carl watched that piece-of-shit Claimer die, feeling too many emotions at that point to keep track of each one.

          But Carl remembered the most prominent emotions- shock, anger, and relief. It had been a strange combination, but the relief was slowly taking over, despite the anger simmering on the surface. Because Carl had thought that his dad wouldn’t be able to save him this time. That, after all the talk Carl had about ‘growing up’, life had played a cruel joke on him, showing him that he wasn’t ready, that he could be taken advantage of so easily. But it was over and that man was dead.

          Rick, while glaring down at the bleeding body in front of him, felt some of his anger dissipate. Whatever in him that had snapped slowly fixed itself, at least enough to clear Rick from the murderous haze filling his head. But Rick still was angry. He couldn’t every truly protect his family, could he? He had hoped that maybe, just maybe, he could’ve kept Carl, or Michonne, or anybody else really, from something like this. He was wrong, and apparently still stupidly naive. Rick clenched his fist tighter around the knife in his hand, breathing deeply. Carl already had a shitty childhood, growing up in a world where the dead came back to eat the living and all, but this is just added more to it.

          At least…at least Carl hadn’t been sexually assaulted all the way. At least, he wasn’t as traumatized as he could’ve been…which sounded like a pathetic excuse to Rick’s ears. Rick had no idea what he would've done to the Claimers if Carl had been raped. Because he had no doubt that they would’ve gone after Michonne too, and if something like that happened to two of the most important people in Rick’s life….No. Carl was safe.

          Carl took a deep breath too, feeling his body stop panicking. He was safe. Daryl was okay (but battered as hell), his dad was okay, Michonne was okay, and he was okay.

          But the sound of the belt unbuckling still haunted him for the days that followed the incidental night.

          Psychological trauma can go both ways- to the rescued, and the rescuer.

 

********************************************************

 

          The RV jostled along the winding road, taking Rick back to _that_ place, the place where he and his family had lost so much. The word family was used loosely nowadays. Rick wasn’t just thinking of him, Carl, Judith and Michonne as his family. His family was everybody there who had been forced to their knees, his friends, the people he cared about.

          He’d let them down.

He couldn’t keep them safe. If, _if_ they had just gone in a different direction, if they had just made it to the Hilltop, if Maggie had been feeling better, if-

          No, there wasn’t any way to go back.

          Rick really had never felt so defeated in his life. Even after waking up from the coma into the horrid new world, he had hope for finding his family. But then Shane...Shane had lost it. Shane wanted Lori, Carl, whatever Rick had, but he was Rick’s best friend and it somehow spiraled and spiraled until they ended up facing off against each other on that moonlit field. And Shane had lowered his gun. He had _lowered his gun_. But Rick stabbed him all the same, and Rick had thought about it for days afterwards. Rick knew that Shane was too far gone, but what if he hadn’t been? What if Rick had been wrong, what if Shane was ready to let whatever had happened be behind them? There was no way to ever know now. Shane was dead. A member of his family had slipped away.

Rick blinked, staring at the seat across from him with an unfocused gaze.

          Was there really no way Rick could keep his family safe _permanently_? He shook slightly, tuning out Negan’s light whistling as the scarf-clad man drove the RV. He just kept failing them, didn’t he?

 _You call yourself a leader. Is that really what you are? Look at everything that’s happened because of_ **_you_ **.

That’s not true, part of Rick argued back. He had rescued his people multiple times. He had done enough to keep as many people as he could alive.

_Are you really going to tell yourself that? Don’t. There’s no way to look around your sins and failures, Rick. Let’s take a look, shall we?_

Before he could stop himself, Rick’s thoughts played every single failure of his before his mind’s eye, almost tauntingly.

          He lost Sophia. Literally. He lost Dale, too. To a walker. Shane….he had lost Shane to himself. Hershel lost his leg because of Rick. He had insisted on checking out the rest of the prison. And Hershel had eventually died too, at the hands of the Governor. T-Dog died because of a walker. Lori…

          Oh, god, Lori.

          He couldn’t go there, he just couldn’t...Lori had made her mistakes. But didn’t everybody? And despite how cold he had been to her, she still had loved him. But he couldn’t even offer her comfort, could he? No, he tried to shut her out. He had started warming up to her again, but...she died. She died giving birth to Judith, surrounded by cold dark walls and walkers. And Carl had been forced to shoot her. Shoot his own mom so she wouldn’t turn.

          Carl. How much had Rick failed Carl?

Too many times to count, Rick knew that. Carl had grown up in this crueler world, subjected to almost every type of trauma there was.

_Even almost being raped, Rick._

          His thoughts suddenly flooded with the memory of that night. Carl being shoved down, Carl crying out. Rick had torn Joe’s throat out to save his son and had destroyed the Claimer who had lain his hands on Carl. But it wasn’t enough. Carl had been thrown head first into another danger of what was left of civilization. Rick had hoped that he could’ve protected Carl from something like that, and he guessed he sort of did, but there was no mistaking how Carl was traumatized.

          They’d talked about a few times. Carl didn’t like mentioning it, but Rick knew Carl had to talk about it, at least just once. He had felt like a failure as a father as Carl had cried into his shirt, Rick muttering under his breath softly and humming a song he and Lori used to sing to Carl when the boy was younger. Carl knew he loved him, but maybe Rick should’ve said it more often.

          Rick’s thoughts turned towards Michonne. He hoped she was okay. He’d been gone for a long time. If she or any of the others had gotten rebellious, who knows what the Saviors would’ve done. Kill one of them, maybe. Scratch that. Kill one of them, most likely. Rick couldn’t handle anybody getting hurt, but Michonne…He loved her. Rick wasn’t sure if Michonne really knew that, but he loved her. Rick didn’t really pray, so he just hoped she was okay. Hoped that Michonne and Carl and the rest of his family was okay.

          Rick couldn’t take it. Being mostly left alone by Negan as the other man drove them back to camp gave him too much time to think. What Rick was doing probably didn’t count as thinking, though.

          He was just floating between past failures. This was his fault, his fault, all of this was his fault, _it was his fault,_ **_everything was his fault, his fault, his fau_ ** -

          “We’re here, prick.” Negan’s voice cut through the haze. Rick face twisted into a grimace, one he struggled to keep off his face before smoothing it back into a shell shocked gaze. He stared up at the leader of the Saviors. Negan looked down at him with a slightly bemused expression, then scoffed.

          “This must be hard for you, right? I mean you’ve been King Shit for so long.”

 _King Shit….._ What did that even mean?

          Negan continued on, walking towards some cabinets behind Rick. He continued talking. Rick dazed out for a moment, blue eyes locking onto the table in front of him.

          “....Getting ‘em clipped like that, one nut, then the other, and in front of your boy? That is some screwed-up shit!” Negan drawled. “Ah. Oh. Goody.” Negan grinned as he withdrew a white bottle from the cabinet.

          Negan grasped the handle of the axe firmly lodged into the table and pulled it out. He wiped the blade on Rick’s jacket. Rick just let himself be prodded around by the motion of the axe, struggling not to throw a punch at Negan. Negan twisted off the cap of the bottle, the cap clattering as it fell onto the table. He sighed, cleaning the axe’s bloody blade with the alcohol.

          “You were the leader,” Negan said conversationally. “Hell, you were probably addicted to it.”

          Rick would’ve laughed at that in any other scenario. Addicted? He didn’t want to be the leader. He just was. Rick had started leading his group at one point, and eventually he just officially became the leader. Hell, when he stepped down, he had to be straight _asked_ by multiple people to be the leader again.

          “And now, well, clip, clip- that’s over,” Negan continued, wiping the axe clean,“But you can still lead a nice, productive life producing for me.”

          Negan punctuated that statement by handing Rick the axe, flashing a wolfish smile at him, “I think you’re gonna need it. I just got a feelin’.”

          There was a prolonged pause as Rick stayed silent, unmoving. He stared at Negan with a battered, red-rimmed gaze. Negan leaned in slowly, all hints of friendliness slowly disappearing.

          “So take it.” Negan ordered coldly. Rick’s face nearly twisted into a grimace again, and he took the axe.

 

          Carl’s hand scrunched up the fabric of his pants.

          They’d been sitting there for so long. His legs had gone numb, but he didn’t care. That was the least of his worries. He glanced at Michonne from under the rim of his hat. Michonne happened to be looking back at him, and they exchanged a glance. She tried to communicate some sort of comfort to him, but she was in as much need of comfort as he was. Everybody in their group was shaking, some still silently crying. Carl was trying to not shake or show how he really felt, to be strong, but it was as hard as he expected. The night had left an emotional toll on everybody in his group, including him, and Rick was gone. Nobody had any idea what happened next.

          As Carl and Michonne looked at each other, they seemed to be thinking the same exact thing: Where the hell was Rick? Negan must’ve dragged Carl’s father into the RV _hours_ ago. Rick had threatened Negan, and Negan had simply manhandled him into the RV.

          “I’ll be right back. And maybe Rick will be with me. If not, we can just turn these people inside out, can't’ we?” Negan had tossed over his shoulder as he dragged Rick away.

          Carl had no idea how much time had passed, but it was light out already and it felt like they’d been sitting there for hours. Even the Saviors standing around them seemed antsy. Carl resisted the urge to fidget or at least clock one of the Saviors in the face. He couldn’t handle just waiting around like this. For all he knew, his dad was dead and gone. Killed by Negan's bat Lucille.

          That thought almost made him sick. Carl was never the most outwardly affectionate son, but he’d already lost his birth mom and losing his father after everything they’d been through was something he didn’t want to think was possible. He and his dad didn’t always see eye-to-eye, like every normal apocalyptic family, but Carl loved his dad. He didn’t say it enough.

          His dad had always done so much for him, even if Carl didn’t agree with his decisions. What had Carl done for him?

          Carl pushed that thought away and instead wondered about what Negan was doing with Dad. Maybe he was trying to intimidate him. Negan didn’t seem to be planning on killing Rick. But Carl barely knew Negan, and Negan seemed like a grade-A asshole so he wasn’t too sure on what Negan had in mind.

          The clearing was mostly silent, save for a few Saviors murmuring amongst themselves. Faintly, the sound of an engine got closer and closer.

          Everybody looked up as the RV drove back into the clearing and skid to a stop. It was completely silent, except for the running engine, which eventually cut out too. The RV door facing them stayed resolutely closed for what felt like way too long of a time.

 

          Next thing Rick knew, he was being shoved out of the RV as the door burst open. He fell through a kaleidoscope of light and colors before hitting the ground, effectively getting the breath knocked out of him. Negan sauntered out behind Rick.

          Negan reached down and firmly grabbed the collar of Rick’s jacket, dragging him towards his group, which was still sitting in their forced crescent moon formation. Rick tried to scramble to his feet as he was dragged along once again but to no avail. Negan came to a stop, depositing Rick onto the ground next to him.

          “Here we are,” Negan announced, spreading his arms as he essentially presented himself and Rick to the Saviors in the clearing.

          Part of Rick was aware of how vulnerable he probably looked, collapsed on the ground, breathing heavily, looking like an overall mess. That part was shoved aside as his mind frantically scrambled to think of what could happen next and how he could keep his people alive and unhurt.

          Everybody looked at Rick, who seemed to be in one piece. A very falling-apart, shell-shocked-looking mess of a piece, but in one piece all the same. Carl sat up apprehensively, wondering if anything would happen to his father or the rest of his family.

          Negan leisurely prowled around Rick, then pointed at him with a gloved hand, “Let me ask you something, Rick—do you even know what that little trip was about?”

          There was more silence as Rick reeled from the events that happened up until now. Rick breathed heavily, breaking the silence. The surrounding Saviors watched, wondering where this was going. Negan waited for a response, but got none. Carl glanced at Negan, then his father.

          “Speak when you’re spoken to.” Negan said plainly, stopping and standing in place. More silence from Rick. Rick glanced out from under the curls dangling in his face at his son, who was attempting to hide the concern on his face. Rick’s eyes drifted to Michonne and Daryl, who were doing the same.

          “Okay. Okay.” Rick said raspily, nodding his head.

          Negan looked down at Rick, shifting his weight to his other leg. He spoke as if addressing just Rick, but he made sure his voice carried through the clearing to everybody. Negan was a showman, and this was his show.

          “This trip was about the way you looked at me. I wanted to change that. I wanted you to understand.”

          Rick looked up at Negan this time, once again fighting a grimace off his face. It wasn’t enough to keep the anger out of his eyes, though. Rick’s head was practically pounding with all the thoughts that were trying to overtake him. Negan smiled bemusedly, noting the rage in Rick’s eyes.

          Carl watched the one sided interaction. So that’s what the sudden “trip” was about: Negan wanted to squash Rick’s defiance.

          “But you’re still looking at me the same damn way,” Negan remarked, slightly smiling, “like I shit in your scrambled eggs, and that’s not going to work. So...”

          Negan slowly prowled around Rick, then crouched down next to the right of the other man.

          “...Do I give you another chance?” Negan asked. That sort of question would normally be a rhetorical question, uttered out loud for emphasis, but this was Negan. He expected an answer.

          Rick bowed his head, looking down at the ground in front of him. He breathed raggedly, swaying forwards a bit before leaning back. He nodded in Negan’s general direction.

          “Yeah,” Rick got out, albeit shakily. Anger quickly shot through him at failing to get his people to Hilltop, to leading them to this very situation, at being reduced to _this_ , “Yes.”

          Negan patted Rick’s shoulder and pushed himself up.

          “Okay,” The grin on Negan’s face was practically audible. He chuckled, “All right. And here it is— the grand-prize game.”

          Negan gestured with grandiose, “What you do next will decide whether your crap day becomes everyone’s _last_ crap day,” he said that last bit almost questioningly, “Or just another crap day.”

          Negan pointed and sweeped at the rest of Rick’s group, who were still seated before him.

          “Get some guns to the back of their heads.” He ordered casually. Multiple Saviors stepped up and stood behind each person on the ground respectively, aiming their guns at the backs of their heads. Carl didn’t bother looking behind him.

          Instead, Carl spent his energy trying to anticipate where this was going. What would Negan make his dad do? Negan had already screwed everything up horribly. He wasn’t planning on killing any of them, unless Rick disobeyed whatever he was about to be told to do. Carl eye darted down the line of his seated family, hoping none of them would act out rashly. Michonne glanced backwards at the barrel of the gun aimed at her, then at Rick. The two locked eyes worriedly.

          “Good. Now...level with their noses, so if you have to fire….” Negan leaned back and brought his closed his fist to his face. He flicked his fingers out and imitated the sound of an explosion, “it’ll be a _real_ mess.”

          Rick looked at his people and let out a shuddery breath. He’d do whatever it took to make sure it didn’t come to that. He looked back down, steeling himself.  Negan raised his eyebrows, smiling as he looked over the group in front of him, while he walked around Rick so he was standing to his right, slightly behind him. Negan’s gaze stopped at Carl.

          “Kid.”

Carl glanced to his left, then locked eyes (or, well, eye) with Negan. Negan smiled and beckoned Carl with a single finger. He then pointed at the ground in front of him.

          “Right here.”

Rick looked up at his son, who was still looking at Negan cooly.

_Carl...please…do it...don’t give him an excuse to hurt you._

Rick’s heart raced as Negan repeated the order.

          “Kid….now.” Negan strode forward a bit.

Carl knew better than to push it. He got to his feet, still staring coldly at Negan, and walked forward. He stopped a foot or two away.

          Negan’s hands drifted towards his belt, but he stopped as Rick coughed roughly. Rick grimaced at himself, aware that the noise he’d accidentally made caused things to become awkward. Goddammit. Couldn’t have just kept the cough in, could he? The dryness in his throat didn’t help very much. Negan raised an eyebrow and looked at Rick. Rick resumed his silence. After a moment, Negan dismissed the sudden interruption.

          “You a southpaw?” Negan asked the teen.

          “Am I a what?” Carl retorted back.

          Rick suddenly hacked roughly once more. Negan paused, then moved back and turned so that he was standing over Rick. Negan looked down at the other man, whose body racked slightly.

          “Damn, Rick. Thirsty?” Negan laughed, tilting his head. Rick kept his glare on the ground. Carl gazed down at his father, slightly concerned at the sudden outburst. Rick said nothing, shaking his head mostly to himself. It was odd timing, really, to get a coughing fit now.

          Negan chuckled lightly. He shrugged, then reached his hands down towards his belt.

          Rick remained adamantly unbroken. Of course, making him hurt his son would most likely change that. And what better way to hurt Carl than to force Rick to cut the kid’s arm off? Now, Negan wasn’t going to actually make Rick do that. He had a bit of a soft spot for kids, even if the kid was some fucking angsty-ass eye-patched teen. Negan just wanted to break Rick to the point of being ready to do it. Negan planned on taking off his belt and using it for the supposed tourniquet on Carl’s arm, which he thought was a damn good idea. A supposed tourniquet would make Rick take it seriously.

          Carl considered crossing the distance between him and his dad and checking on Rick, but decided against it. Best to just do what Negan asked. He cast a look at Negan, whose hands were resting cockily on his belt. Negan observed Rick with an air of amused curiosity.

          Carl was waiting, still watching his dad, when he heard it.

          Normally, that specific sound didn’t really affect him, especially after so much time had passed since that night. Hell, Carl had kind of forgot about it. So when he heard it, he didn’t even know what it was, really. But in this situation, where he was already on high alert and internally fighting panic, Carl was set off. And he had no idea why...except...that noise.

 _That_ **_noise_**.

          Carl froze at the sound of a belt unbuckling. The noise echoed in his mind, leaving behind a shocked silence. The stillness didn’t last long, and before he could stop himself, Carl started hyperventilating. He struggled to draw breath, feeling suddenly light-headed. He unconsciously made a confused face and looked down at his ever-so-slightly trembling hand. Why? Why did he suddenly feel like this? He had held it together for so long, and then all of a sudden, this happened. He shaking hands lowered to his sides, forming fists. The fists clenched and unclenched uncontrollably. Carl’s eye focused on the ground before him as some hazy vision of the past flickered across his mind’s eye, in stark contrast with the place he was actually in at the moment. The memory gave him a vague impression of nighttime but, right now, the sun was up, so whatever was in the past was in the past. But that meant nothing. He struggled to differentiate between some nightmarish memory and the present. It felt as if his grip on reality was slipping. Carl grit his teeth, his single eye blown wide. His hair and the Sheriff’s hat hid his expression from everybody else, including Negan. Unaware of the teen’s turmoil, Negan carried on with his plan.

          Negan paused in the middle of unbuckling his belt, still looking down at Rick as Rick gasped for air after his sudden hacking fit.

         “You alright there, Rick? Kinda sound like you’re dying.” He nudged Rick’s side with his shoe, grinning at Rick’s obvious anger, “Can’t have ya fucking _dying_ all of a sudden. That’d be some real shitty timing.”

         Negan nudged Rick again, “Hey, speak when spoken too. Remember that? You good, Rick?”

          Carl glanced wildly about, jerkily twitching his head left and right. Somewhere behind him, a few people made a noise of surprise at the sudden movement. Carl blocked it out. He was too preoccupied searching for….something. He didn't know what. He just felt an overwhelming urge to get to safety. But where was “safety”? Was “safety” even a thing anymore?

          Carl felt a flood of hopelessness rush through him. Why the hell did he feel like this all of a sudden?

          Carl’s fists clenched as he shook. Hard. He scanned the area around him almost angrily, ignoring what he actually saw. All he was doing was searching for whatever was making him feel like this _._ He fists shook and thumped against his sides as his eyes desperately searched for _something_ , so he’d be ready for an attack, so he could fight back, so _he’d_ sink a knife into whatever came at him, so he’d, he’d, _he’d,_ ** _he’d_** —

         Carl’s mind stilled as he heard his father hiss something at Negan. His father was there. He’d be fine. If it came down to it, his dad could protect him. Rick had done it before, he could do it again.

..….Why did that make Carl feel so guilty?

         He dropped his head, inhaling sharply. He pulled himself together again, though the web holding him together was mostly just patchwork. Carl could feel himself slipping. He was keenly aware of Negan in front of him and the other Saviors watching. He couldn’t let them see. Negan would only try to use it against them.

         “Are you a lefty?” Negan’s voice wafted towards Carl.

         “No.” Carl uttered back. He exhaled deeply, then lifted his head up to look at Negan. And froze. Again.

Negan raised his eyebrows at him, a bemused expression on his face. He had taken his belt off. He was standing over Rick, who was curled in on himself on the ground.

         The dam broke.

A single memory flashed before Carl like a raging torrent, demanding his attention.

         The road to Terminus. The Claimers.

Carl was vividly reminded of that night. The Claimer had pulled him out of the car and had thrown him down onto the ground, laughing like a maniac all the while. And Carl had just screamed and cried. His dad had said his reaction was completely reasonable, that it wasn’t his fault, given the intensity of what was happening to him, but Carl had felt useless afterwards. Weak. That Claimer had tried to rape him, and he’d just cried.

         Carl finally understood why he had reacted like that. Negan had unbuckled his belt. What Carl didn’t know was that, somehow, that noise had reached into his memories and brought out the sound of the Claimer unbuckling his belt. The two rang in his head, bouncing around the walls of his skull.

         Negan suddenly looked genuinely curious at that point, but that didn’t register in Carl’s mind. All he noticed was that Negan was standing over Rick like the Claimer had stood over Carl. Negan had taken his belt off like the Claimer had taken his belt off. Dad looked as helpless as Carl had felt.

         Carl felt sick. It was like _that_ night all over again. Except, this time, he and Dad had swapped places, because Negan was standing over Rick with his belt unbuckled like that Claimer had stood over Carl and, _oh god,_  was Negan going to **_assault_ ** _his father_ now, here— he couldn’t! But it was _Negan,_ and Carl barely knew the man and from what he did know Negan wasn’t exactly the best person. Carl felt rage shoot through him, because _no_ ,  _get the hell away from my dad_ , yet he was panicking at the same time and he had no idea what was happening. All Carl felt was a blinding rage at the scene before him, which mixed terribly with the trepidation already churning within him. He felt lost.

        Negan paused, taking in the state the teen seemed to be in. Carl hands were trembling, his fists clenching and unclenching sporadically at his sides. His face was a little too pale, and good-fucking-lordy, the look on the kid’s face. Carl’s eye had a thousand-mile stare and his brows were furrowed in anger and the kid was glaring at him with a kinda concerning amount of rage, but also panic. But the kid wasn’t scared of Negan, because the emotions on his face were also directed at Rick, in a sense. Negan dropped his hands to his sides and glanced down at Rick. Rick’s head was still bowed and he remained unaware of whatever state his son was in. Negan wasn’t sure what to do. Something about the kid was...off. This here was good ol’ papa’s time to step in.

        “Hey, uh, Rick?” Negan prompting, getting the former Sheriff’s attention.

Rick tilted his head to the side, glaring up at Negan. Negan chose to ignore the fire in Rick’s stare for the time being and get to the issue that was Rick’s son.

         “Is that normal?” Negan gestured with an indicative jerk of his head in Carl’s direction. Rick blinked up at Negan, then tilted his head to look in Carl’s direction.

         Rick let out a shocked gasp. Carl stared back at him, yet not _at_ _him_. The glazed look in Carl’s eye gave Rick the impression that his son wasn’t really seeing him; Carl’s gaze encompassed both Rick and Negan. He was much too pale, and the raw emotions that were clearly displayed on Carl’s face sent Rick reeling.

         Rick hadn’t seen emotions like that on his son’s face in what felt like years. How long had it been since Carl displayed such evident rage and panic, all at the same time? Rick felt a surge of helplessness followed by a sense of distress that seemed to match Carl’s. He pushed himself up so that he was sitting on his knees, instead of caved in on himself over the ground.

        “Carl!” Rick croaked out, trying to rouse Carl from his stupor. Negan glanced between father and son, his plan momentarily forgotten. Not gonna lie, he was a bit worried about the kid.

        “He doesn’t look too good, Rick. And something tells me _that_ ,” Negan looked down at Rick and pointed at Carl, “ain’t normal.”

          Rick’s mind scrambled for some way to diffuse the situation. Carl looked like he was about to wildly attack Negan at any second and that would most definitely NOT go well. Something in Rick ached at the sight of Carl so distressed. His brain flipped a switch and Rick was immediately in parental mode, beyond worried at his son’s reaction. Rick felt a fresh wave of panic which he quickly pushed down. Now wasn’t the time.

  “ _Get away from him_.” Carl hissed suddenly, low and angry. His fists uncurled and clenched again slowly. Negan blinked and tilted his head. Slowly, he turned to look down at Rick.

           “Oh,” Negan grinned, “is that what this is about? Scared for your papa? Huh. I was wondering when you were going to drop that stone-cold bullshit. Gotta say, though, I’m impressed, little serial killer. Almost had me fooled. I almost thought you _couldn’t_ be scared.”

Carl stared at Negan wordlessly. His body was screaming at him to do something, anything, but his brain was too muddled to react.

           Rick extended a shaky hand towards Carl. Before he knew it, he was surging to his feet, staggering forwards towards his son.

           “Carl—!” Rick repeated before he felt a hand grip the fabric of his jacket yank him back. Rick stumbled backwards from the sudden pull, and tried to rip Negan’s hand off of him, “Let me—he needs help!”

            “Sit the hell down, Rick. I didn’t say you could get up.” Negan barked. His hand wrapped around Rick’s arm, but ultimately it wasn’t enough to contain Rick’s parental instincts. Taking advantage of Negan only having one available hand (he was still holding onto his belt), Rick bodily shoved Negan aside and rushed towards Carl. Negan angrily waved off a few Saviors who moved forward.

             Before Rick could get any words of comfort out to his son, Negan jerked him back again, but with a much larger amount of force this time. Rick scrambled for an escape, but Negan successfully yanked Rick back and began pushing him down to the ground. Rick struggled desperately, but his mind and body were too scrambled to work together effectively.

              Rick had to stop things before they got any worse. If Carl snapped, if he hurt Negan, Carl would be hurt too. Rick looked up at Carl, whose gaze had dropped and was firmly locked on the ground below him. His arms were raised as if was bracing for an attack, which, at that point, he probably was. Carl’s body heaved as he breathed deeply. In a few seconds, Rick was shoved down onto the ground. He grunted at the sudden impact.

           “Rick, staying fucking still!” Negan growled. Rick scowled at the leather-clad man, who let him go. Rick attempted to surge to his feet once more, which, in hindsight, wasn’t all that smart.

            Negan slammed him down again. This time, Negan straddled Rick’s back, pushing down on the back of his neck so Rick stayed down. Rick grimaced as gravel dug into the side of his face and futilely struggled a bit. He eventually stopped when Negan threateningly tightened his hold on Rick’s neck.

           “Christ, learn to take some goddamn orders.” Negan snapped.

Rick breathed deeply, not moving. Negan slowly loosened his grip and shifted back a bit. Rick took the opportunity to look up at his son. Carl’s gaze was still focused on a patch of ground a few feet ahead of him. Carl closed his eye, trying to even out his breathing. The clearing was dead silent at that point, as if everybody else was holding their breath.

           “Carl, are you alright?” Rick asked. He knew it was a stupid question. Of course Carl wasn’t alright. But Rick had no idea what else to say. Rick felt like he was drowning. Every time he reached for Carl, Carl was just pushed further away. Rick could sense the timer ticking away in Carl. It was only a matter of time before the boy snapped, and Rick needed to console his son before that happened. Rick needed to protect his son, to keep him from bringing destruction upon himself.

           Rick waited for some sort response from Carl. Negan was still straddling Rick’s back, looking at Carl expectantly for an explanation on why the _fuck_ Carl loozed like he was about to start screaming. Rick looked at Carl with a panicked expression, hoping he would pull himself together long enough to get through this. Carl’s eye opened, and his gaze slowly raised itself from the ground before focusing on Rick and the entirety of the scene in front of him.

           In an instant, Carl’s world slid sideways and then flipped in on itself. His body stopped heaving and was replaced with an eerie stillness, his face going coldly blank with shock.

Carl was  _reliving_ that night. Except he was in his father’s place. He could see the Claimer hovering over him, but he was in somebody else’s shoes. That image of the Claimer superimposed itself over Negan, and the image _**burned** _ itself into his mind’s eye. Negan was straddling Rick, pinning him down like the Claimer had pinned Carl down. Rick stared back at Carl with a desperate expression plastered on his face, the familiar blue eyes shining with a panic that set off blaring alarms in Carl’s head. Carl didn’t know if he was looking at the Claimer or Negan or both or neither but he knew he saw an _enemy_.

         Carl was practically delirious off the trepidation filling every pore of his body. He felt like he was plunged into an icy lake in the middle of winter but at the exact same time he was engulfed in a raging bonfire. The heat and the cold intermingled, scorching his veins. The almost feverish shaking in his fists traveled up his arms into his entire body. The teen’s shocked face morphed into something else. His expression twisted and darkened, his fists tightening until his knuckles turned bone white. A thin river of red trickled from one of his shaking fists, but Carl showed no signs of noticing. Carl’s single eye blew crazily wide. The shadow of his hat and the eyepatch darkened his face, giving the visual effect of his eye glaring from the shadows. He snarled silently, his body tearing up unconsciously.

           Carl looked deranged.

Rick stared at his son, wondering with all his heart what had done this to him. Carl looked like a wounded animal, ready to lash out at any given moment.

            “Ho-ly _shit_.” Negan whistled lowly. He slowly shifted back and stood up, looking at Carl curiously. Negan stepped aside so that he no longer stood over Rick, who began to push himself to his knees, “Kid, you should see yourself right now.”

           “Negan.” Rick growled warningly. Carl was going through something, something that did _that_ to him. He looked like he was on the verge of losing it big time. _Taunting_ Carl wasn’t exactly going to help the situation.

          “Rick.” Negan parroted back, laughing at the anger in Rick’s voice. What was he going to do? Attack Negan with the axe again? They both knew how well _that_ worked. Rick seemed to realize that at the exact same time, given the way he stiffened and his knuckles turned white, “Am I wrong? The kid looks crazy. Seriously, anybody got a mirror? He should _really_ see himself.”

          Negan turned, looking at the audience watching. He casually put his belt back on (his original plan was already fucked up, not point trying to stick to it), then swooped down and picked up Lucille. He propped Lucile on his shoulder with flare that was genuinely second-nature at that point.

Negan had put his belt back on, but none of that registered in Carl’s conscious.

          Rick scowled. He glanced back at his son, trying to communicate a sense of comfort to Carl. Carl wasn’t even looking at him. Well, he was, but he wasn't there. Carl was somewhere far, far away, trapped within his psyche. If Rick could just _talk_ Carl privately....but Negan wasn’t the type to just let somebody walk away for a bit if they were having a mental breakdown.

          That’s the word. Mental breakdown. Carl was having a mental breakdown. The word weighed heavy on Rick’s mind and tongue. Rick remembered a few mental breakdowns of his own with dread. The first big one was after Lori died. He’d really dove off the deep end there.

          His mind had just torn itself apart, no different from the way the Walkers tore apart their victims. He’d collapsed in on himself, shutting down everything except the basic function of _destroying_ . Rick remember slaughtering everything that came at him, glad that it was just him down there because he had really, truly _lost it_. And then he’d found out that Lori’s body had already been eaten. Eaten by some disgusting thing that used to be human but had become so bloated on Lori’s corpse that it struggled to move. Rick had, oddly enough, gained clarity for a split second when he realized what happened. And then he’d broken down again, shouting and snarling and stabbing at the walker. The guilt had been suffocating. Hell, it still was. It was funny how much a mental breakdown could utterly destroy somebody.

          Was that what was happening to Carl? Rick’s heart stopped for a moment. He knew that with the way things were, everybody struggled to cope, but it had never been this bad for Carl. Carl had shut down before, but a shut down and a mental breakdown were two very different things. He had never had the latter until now, and now was probably one of the worst times to have it. But try as he might, Rick couldn’t help Carl. This was another thing on the list of something Rick couldn’t protect Carl from. That list seemed to be getting bigger with every passing day.

          Carl breathed deeply, struggling to breathe with the way his throat had choked up. His head was howling in a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings. He was back in _that_ place, but he also wasn’t. The memory overlayed his actual surroundings almost artistically, the nightmarish darkness of that night lapping at the edge of his vision. It was day in the clearing he was in, but in his mind it was the exact same night sky above him, the bright moonlight the only thing lighting up the clearing. His vision blurred and focused repeatedly, swimming with intermingling images. He couldn’t….he couldn’t take it. It was too much, too _much,_ his stomach was flipping wildly, every single muscle in his body was wound up, **he couldn’t** **_stand it._ **

          His brain lurched between flight and fight, and his body flushed with shame. He was trying to run from his _emotions_ when his dad needed him. Of course, he couldn’t do anything. A fresh wave of guilt swallowed him up and Carl actually couldn’t breathe.

          Dad had saved him. The first time he had been shot, his dad had carried him all the way to safety, then had given up way too much blood to save Carl. On the road to Terminus, during the clash with the Claimers, Rick was there, tearing through Joe and then the Claimer attacking Carl. His dad constantly went to the edge and back to keep Carl and the rest of his family safe. How much did Rick sacrifice for them? He was always there to save him.

          And the one time his dad needed him, Carl couldn’t do anything. Carl nearly bubbled with laughter at that. It was funny, really. He remembered with crystal clarity the exact moment the Claimer on him had backed off in fear. Fear of Rick. Rick, Dad, who had torn out Joe’s throat to save Carl. And he _really_ remembered the look on the Claimer’s face as the knife tore into his body. What had _Carl_ ever done to help? He probably hurt more than he helped. No, he _surely_ hurt more than he helped, because he remembered what happened after the prison fell. Rick was on the verge of death, and Carl _blamed_ him.

          And here Carl stood, utterly powerless to save his family, Dad, everybody. Hell, Negan could do whatever he wanted and Carl would just have to sit back and let it happen. He couldn’t _do_ anything. Was he always his useless? His dad had saved him, kept him safe so many times. And now Carl couldn’t return the favor.

          Carl felt like he would collapse at any second. But his body wouldn’t allow it. Despite the pounding in his head, his body stood rigid, shaking with a rage he’d never felt before. Something in him was howling wildly. Carl was sure he’d explode with everything he was feeling. His mind was screaming loudly, _too_ loudly, it was TOO MUCH.

          “Yeah, I got nothing.” Negan shrugged theatrically in the silence, “I have no idea what’s up with the kid. You know what’s up with him, Rick?”

Negan tapped a foot against the ground, waiting for a response. Rick ignored Negan, trying to get Carl to actually _look_ at him.

          “Carl. Can you hear me?” Rick uttered, concern lacing his voice. Carl didn’t react.

Negan rolled his eyes. The conversation was annoyingly one-sided. He sighed deeply.

          “You know what Rick? You can take a closer look. Go on.”

          Rick realized Negan was giving him permission to approach Carl, but his body just wasn’t moving. He felt a fleeting moment of betrayal at his own limbs. He guessed his body was just too drained to move. Rick struggled to get up, but his body collapsed so that he was once again caved in on himself over the ground.

          Negan sighed dramatically, “Do I have to do _everything_ around here?”

          Negan spun on his heel and sauntered back towards Rick. He crouched down beside the shell shocked man and wrenched him up by the collar of his jacket. Negan stared at Rick, who simply stared back, before pushing him over. Rick landed on his side, still internally yelling at himself for not being able to move, and grunted softly at the impact. Negan chuckled at how much Rick resembled a rag doll.

          “Are you even in there?” Negan taunted, tapping Lucille against the ground next to Rick’s head.

          Carl’s metaphorical hackles rose at the sight. His mind once again painted the wrong picture. The sirens in his head went  off, blaring and loud, or maybe that was just his internal voice screaming itself raw. Guilt and shame and anger and fear poured through Carl’s very being, until he felt like that was all he was. He could never save anybody. He couldn’t save Mom. And how he was just standing by, not even lifting a finger to save his dad.

 _Do something, help him, are you just letting this_ **_happen,_ ** _stop, stop stop STOP!_

          Before Rick could react, Negan’s hand wrapped around his throat, crushing softly. Rick choked lightly, his hands reflexively flying up to claw at Negan’s hand. The scene played itself out in front of Carl, who soaked up the image with dismay. The howling in his head got louder and louder, until it was almost all he could hear. Almost. Rick choked and gasped for air.

 

          Something in Carl shattered.

 

 

          The screaming in his head suddenly tore itself out of his throat.

Everybody in the clearing jumped, startled at the sudden sound. But what happened next rendered them all speechless.

          The storm in Carl’s mind funneled into his body and into his voice. His face contorted. In a second, he was hurtling towards Negan in a blur of blue plaid, roaring, “ _Don’t touch him, I’ll KILL you, don’t touch him, don’t touch him, **I’LL KILL YOU**!”_

         The words wrenched themselves out of his mouth, scratching at his throat as he screamed himself hoarse.

          Negan sprung up instinctively, bracing for impact, but not quite fast enough. Carl got in a surprisingly hard punch across Negan’s face just at Negan got up. In an instant, Carl was clawing and snarling at Negan, hurling his fists over and over at everything he could hit.

 _Damn,_  the kid was stronger than he looked.

          Carl was a deranged animal, snarling and screaming as he threw punch after punch. Negan staggered back under the sudden onslaught. The close range left him unable to use Lucille.

          Everybody was frozen in place.

          Negan slammed Carl back with a grunt. Carl’s body moved with the motion, springing back as intensely as he had barreled forward. He reached down and grabbed Rick, who still lay in shock. Before he knew it, Rick was being dragged back away from Negan and then to his feet, gasping for breath all the while. His vision swam as he struggled to place himself. Carl appeared before him, glaring at Negan with the same deranged look.

          The abrupt end of the attack brought life back into the Saviors who were watching. Dwight stormed forward, bringing his gun up. A clamor of unintelligible indignant shouts rose up from the Saviors. Negan rubbed his face over the spot Carl had punched him, then quickly waved off Dwight and the other lieutenants marching forward. This was still Negan’s show.

          The bemused look on Negan’s face was long gone. Instead there was anger, which faded into shock, and then, slowly, genuine confusion. Negan’s brow furrowed as he inspected Carl and the rampant fury radiating from the now-silent teen.

          Rick simply gaped at his son. He reached forward and touched Carl’s shoulder. Carl immediately grasped his wrist, whirling around to face Rick. He relaxed when his gaze landed on Rick’s face. But instead of letting go, the grasp on his wrist tightened.

          “Kid, what the ever loving _fuck_?” Negan asked. Lucille dangled at his side, an unspoken threat.

          Rick moved to sidestep around Carl. If he could just get between Carl and Negan, maybe he could keep Negan’s attention on him. But Carl wouldn’t have it. Carl’s hand flew from his wrist to his forearm, holding tightly and almost _protectively_. The grip kept him in place. Rick looked into his son’s eye, and froze.

          Under the rampant rage displayed on Carl’s face, under the glossed over look in Carl’s single eye, was _fear_. Real, tangible fear. Carl wasn’t just scared for himself, though. He was scared for Rick.

          The gears in Rick’s mind spun wildly, trying to place the expression on his son’s face. Carl’s gaze lingered on him for a few seconds, before he shoved Rick behind him with distinct protectiveness. The unspoken questions died on Rick’s tongue, and he stared at Carl. Rick’s brow furrowed, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Rick shook his head and looked at the panic and rage trapezing across Carl’s face, at the fear underlying the dark expression.

He didn’t…..he didn’t understand.

          Throughout the entire night leading up this moment, Carl had barely shown any emotion, let alone such raw distress or anger. Rick had felt proud, if for the briefest moment before he was swallowed up by his own failures, that Carl had remained so strong.

So what had done this to him?

          Rick experimentally tried to remove his arm from Carl’s grip. Carl’s grip immediately tightened. He was still shaking dangerously, hovering in front of Rick. When was the last time Carl had been so scared? Rick filtered through his memories, landing on that fateful night Carl had lost his eye. Could that be it?

          But why would it be? Carl was unconscious after he was shot in the eye. The moment he had gotten Carl into the house, away from all the walkers, that all too familiar rage had settled into his veins, sending him out into the horde, tearing and slicing and slashing at the walkers. Fear shot through Rick as remembered the desperation he had felt at the realization that Carl could die. Not Carl, not Carl, not _Carl_ ….but the fear and desperation had all come from Rick. So that wasn’t it.

          He thought of everything that had happened before that. Before they had found Alexandria, was Terminus. Rick didn’t think anything in Terminus could’ve fazed Carl _this_ badly. Further back, then. The road to Terminus….

          Oh.

The road to Terminus. The Claimers.

          The floor suddenly gave out under Rick. For what felt like the hundredth time since the run-in with the Saviors, his body nearly collapsed in on itself. Carl hadn’t wanted to talk about that night, aside from the first few talks about _rape_ . Just thinking about it made Rick’s mind roar for justice, but that Claimer was long dead. He often wished he’d drawn it out longer, made the Claimer suffer, but in the moment he’d just wanted the Claimer dead and gone. The Claimer _was_ dead and gone.

          It wasn’t enough.

          The familiar sense of failure weighed heavily on Rick’s body. But he brushed it aside. What mattered now was consoling Carl. He didn’t know if it could get any worse than this, but Rick didn’t want to find out. He had to calm Carl down. He wasn’t sure what would come after that, but that didn’t matter. Carl did.

          Rick placed a gentle hand on Carl’s shoulder. Carl reeled around to face him, set off once again at the unexpected contact. Despite everything, Rick flinched at Carl’s reaction, less out of surprise and more out of dismay at just how much that night had hurt Carl. Carl stared back at Rick with the same deranged, dark expression. Looking closer, Rick realized that the widened eye trained on his face held unshed tears.

          “Carl,” Rick pleaded, “Look at me. _Look at me._ ”

          The eye blinked a few times, darting over every part of his face before suddenly _focusing_. Carl let go of Rick’s wrist. Rick moved to gently pull his son into a hug, but Carl beat him to it.

          Carl’s mind suddenly fell silent, clearing almost instantly at the look on Dad’s face. He slammed into his dad, wrapping his arms around Rick’s frame, which drew out a rush of air from Rick. Carl immediately loosened his grip. The last thing he wanted was Dad to get hurt because of _him._

          Carl’s body wracked with tremors. He wasn’t crying, just….shaking. He felt too much. Too much anger, too much desperation. His dad hugged him back, albeit much more gently than Carl had hugged him. A hand soothingly rubbed Carl’s back. Carl’s hands clawed at the fabric of his dad’s shirt so that _nobody_ could take his dad away from him. He had to keep Rick safe.

          A soft murmuring drifted into Carl’s ears. Dad. Dad was saying something.

          “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Rick murmured. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the Sheriff’s hat resting on the ground. It must’ve fell of Carl’s head at some point. Rick ignored it and navigated his head around Carl's to glance apprehensively at Negan. Negan was exchanging a look with Simon, who looked just as bewildered.

          Negan scanned the faces of Rick’s group. They all looked equally confused, even the samurai chick. She and Rick obviously had a thing going, so that would’ve made her Carl’s stepmom of sorts. She had no idea what happened, and from the previous expressions on Rick’s face, neither did Rick.

          “Carl, it’s okay,” Rick repeated, concern etched into his face. He wasn’t sure _why_ Carl had been triggered like this but he had feeling it might’ve been when Negan took his belt off.

          After nearly being raped by the Claimer, the sound must’ve imprinted itself in Carl’s brain. But it didn’t _entirely_ make sense, because when Negan had taken his belt off, he had been facing Rick, not Carl.

          Carl hugged Rick tighter. Rick was suddenly aware of the eyes drilling into his back. He turned his head to see his people staring at him, unspoken questions lingering in their eyes. Rick simply shook his head. He couldn’t say it here, not in front of Negan and the Saviors. He turned his head back to look at Carl.

          “I couldn’t…” Carl said gruffly. He wasn’t sure if his dad could hear him, but the words were tumbling out nonetheless, “I can’t…. _I can’t let him hurt you, not you, I can’t, I can’t, I’ll kill him._ ”

          Rick blanched.

          “Hurt...me?” He murmured. The words didn’t make sense. Why would what happened to _him_ matter? Carl was literally _shaking_.

          “I won’t let it happen, not to you, not to _anybody_ ,” Carl hissed. Rick tried to draw back to look Carl in the face, but Carl just hugged him tighter, definitely protectively. When had Carl gotten so strong? When had he gotten so big?

          In a split second of clarity, Rick understood. Negan had been facing him, not Carl.  He remembered how Carl’s face had darkened when he looked up to see Negan straddling his back. He remembered how Carl had snapped when Negan had pinned him down by the throat.

          Carl had screamed “Don’t touch him”.

Carl had the wrong idea.

          Rick jolted with the sudden realization. The protective way Carl’s hands were twisted in his shirt made sense now. He had to get Carl to understand that it wasn’t like that. Maybe if he did, Carl would calm down.

          “Wait, no no no, _Carl_ ,” Rick patted Carl’s back rapidly, trying to get the boy to _listen_ , “I don’t think…..that’s not…”

          “I take it that you’ve figured out what the _hell_ is going on?”

 Negan’s voice tore Rick out of his thoughts. Carl tensed and let go of his dad. He whirled around to face Negan, but Rick grabbed his shoulder before he could anything.

          “ _Carl!_ Don’t.” Rick let go when Carl’s body unwound itself, even if only a little bit. Rick looked at Negan, who was obviously waiting for a response.

          “I-I…” Rick looked down at the ground, steeling himself for the possible repercussions of his response, “I can’t tell you.”

          Negan narrowed his eyes at Rick. Negan glanced at Carl, who still seemed ready to throw a fist or two at him. That sort of pansy-ass, bullshit answer wasn’t going to slide. He wanted answers. _Now_. And if Rick knew, Rick was going to tell him.

          “Oh, I’m pretty sure you can, Rick,” Negan said lowly, swinging Lucille back and forth threateningly. He strode forward but made sure to keep his space. He didn’t want to have to hurt the kid.

          Rick grimaced. He didn’t want tell Negan about Carl almost being raped, let alone in front of all the Saviors watching. Rick thought of making something up, but with the way Carl had just _snapped_ like that, he knew Negan would see through any half-baked lie Rick could come up with. Rick swallowed nervously. He gently tugged Carl back so that he stood next to Rick. In case Carl decided to attack Negan again, Rick would be able to pull his son back.

Alright.

          Rick didn’t think he could get the words out without choking, especially not in front of the Saviors. Maybe Negan already knew of the Claimers. Rick hoped so, at least. He’d just tell Negan that it had to do with the Claimers, and hopefully the man would get it.

          Negan cleared his throat pointedly. Rick still hadn’t answer, and his patience was running thin. And everybody knew what happened when Negan’s patience ran thin. Depending on what side you were on, very not-good things would happen.

          “Have you,” Rick paused to unscramble his thoughts, “heard of a group called The Claimers?”

          A sudden ragged gasp came from behind Rick. Rick glanced back. Michonne stared back at him, her eyes alight with shock and understanding. The rest of the group glanced at her, then Rick. He closed his eyes briefly. The faces of his family still stared up at him imploringly.

          He’d told them about what had happened that night. Or, at least, the big details. They were his family. They had deserved to know. But only he, Michonne, Daryl, and Carl had been there. They thought of the event as an attack by the Claimers, but the rest of the group that wasn’t there thought of it as something that had happened on the way to Terminus.

          “The road to Terminus.” Rick rasped quietly.

          A sudden dawning realization overcame the curious expressions. A chorus of gasps shot back at him. The shock and understanding in Glenn’s eyes was enough evidence to show that he understood what had made Carl snap…..and what Carl had thought was going to happen. Only Aaron looked just as confused at the Saviors around them.

          Beside him, Carl tensed up dangerously at the mention of the Claimers. His single eye widened again and locked on Negan.

          “Carl.” Rick whispered hoarsely. Carl’s gaze darted towards Rick. Somehow, miraculously, Carl relaxed when he locked eyes with his father. However, he still stood ready to attack. Carl was trapped in his mind. Rick didn’t know how to get him out, but he couldn’t focus on that, not when Negan was demanding answers.

          “The _what_?” Negan quipped, “Arat, you ever heard of ‘The Claimers’?”

Negan added air-quotes around the title. Arat shook her head.

          “No. Never heard of them.”

          “So, who the hell are the Claimers?” Negan asked theatrically. Rick fell silent, unsure of how to proceed, “And you better answer me, because I guaran-fucking- _tee_ that I’m bouta lose my shit like your boy did if you don’t give me a straight answer.”

          Great. So Negan didn’t know about the Claimers. Rick thrummed with nervous energy at the idea of having to explain what happened to Negan. He wasn’t sure what Negan thought of rape. Negan didn’t seem like the best person. Something in Rick was scared that if Rick told him, if Negan got the idea, he’d _go through with it_. A pure flash of fear ignited within Rick, but he quickly tamped down on it. He didn’t care what happened to him, as long as Carl and the rest of his family was safe.

          Rick exhaled sharply, “Can I talk to you privately?”

          Negan blinked. He tilted his head, considering the request. Negan decided _yes, why the hell not_. He was curious, and if a private conversation gave him an answer he’d take it. But for the sake of just screwing with Rick, he kept quiet in a contemplative silence for a bit longer.

          “Well, shit, if it’s that big of deal, okay.” Negan threw his hands up. He grinned, turning to regard the RV behind him before turning back to Rick.

          “How about we talk in the RV?”

          Rick clenched his jaw, seething. Of course, Negan would do that. Have a conversation about this in that goddamned RV. Rick clenched his fists, then quickly relaxed. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Negan. Negan bemusedly smiled a wolf’s smile, sharp and dangerous.

          Rick _really_ didn’t want to tell Negan about what almost happened to Carl. But he didn’t have a choice. His jaw tightened, but aside from that he made no display of spite at Negan’s words. But how the hell was he supposed to do this? The conversation was going to be a hellish one, that was for sure. Rick’s thoughts stuttered to a halt when he noted Negan shifting his stance, obviously running low on patience once again. Rick exhaled deeply with a new resolve. His family came first, no matter what. He had to tell Negan, for their sake.

          “Okay.” Rick muttered roughly. Negan chortled at the man’s obvious reluctance and gestured with one hand towards the RV door.

          “After you.” Negan twirled Lucille, whistling lightly.

          Rick clamped down on an involuntary shudder at the sound. He was sure the sound of the Saviors whistling from the night before would haunt him for the rest of his life. Nevertheless, Rick took a step forward towards the RV. But the moment he moved, Carl moved with him. Rick opened his mouth to express his disapproval at the idea of Carl being in such close quarters with Negan, but Carl simply shot his father a steely gaze.

          Carl had suddenly done a complete 180. The shaking outrage from a few moments ago was gone. In its stead was a icy front, which was familiar, save for the dark, fervent look plastered on Carl’s face. It wasn’t as intense as it had been a minute ago, but it gave off an air of instability, of a crazed beast about to pounce. Carl didn’t know what was happening, truthfully. The last thing he remembered was this feeling of something in him shattering, and then _screaming_. Then nothing. The time period separating that and this moment was an empty gap. Everything was moving too fast for him. One moment, loud. The next, quiet.

          He no longer felt like he was standing in the center of an inferno. The feeling wasn’t as bad now. But he still felt an almost uncontrollable anger, one that caused his fists to twitch every now and then.

          “Yeah, no, kid, you’re staying out here. Give you some time to cool off and all that.” Negan scoffed at Carl’s attempts to accompany his father. Carl’s head snapped up towards Negan.

          Carl’s body tensed up, his brow furrowing deeply as the single eye on his face widened once again. Carl seemed to slowly grow larger as he bristled visibly. It was like watching a volcano gearing up to erupt. The timer in Carl’s mind was rapidly ticking down again, nearing the next explosion.

          Negan wasn’t blind. He readied himself for another attack. More importantly, he readied to shut that shit _down._

          Carl lunged forward again, growling lowly. This time, Rick was ready. He grabbed Carl’s arm and tugged as hard as he could. Carl careened backwards and slammed into Rick. Rick quickly turned Carl towards him, forcing Carl to look him in the eye.

          “Carl. _Look at me_. I’m here. ” Rick said, using his now-rusty assertive voice. His voice carried a certain parental authority intermingled with a soothing tone. Rick didn’t know if him being there meant anything. But maybe it would mean something to Carl. He hoped it was enough to convey a sense of comfort to Carl but also tell him to stop, just for the time being, “I’m here.”

Surprisingly, it worked.

          Carl blinked at the familiar authoritative look his father gave him. He had no idea why, but it was oddly calming. The tension in his body slackened almost instantly. The assertive look his father gave him took Carl aback. The desperately protective voice in his head quieted. Despite all that happened, Dad was still himself. He wasn't broken. He was just bending. Bending to keep his family safe. Carl had forgotten that.

_“We don’t get weak, that’s not in us anymore.”_

          Rick had said that to him when they had arrived in Alexandria. Carl had been scared of getting weak. They weren’t weak. Even now, they weren’t weak. Yes, they lost. But Negan, the Saviors…..they were just another enemy. The group had faced this before. They’d get through it. They were the ones that lived. Even if they were beaten for the time being. Dad would get them through this. Dad would be fine.

          A heaviness that Carl hadn’t been aware of suddenly lifted and evaporated, leaving Carl feeling like he’d just broken free from a prison he didn’t even know he was trapped in. It left Carl mildly breathless. The burning wrath in him cooled. The cold desperation warmed. It was as if Carl was suddenly slammed back into his own body.

          He nodded, not quite sure what he was nodding at. Rick let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He rested his hand on Carl’s shoulder in the brief “We don’t have time to talk but I want you to be okay” sort of touch they’d mastered  over the years.

          “The kid’s calmed down now?” Negan tapped Lucille against the side of his leg, “Alright! Dwight, Simon, keep an eye on the kid while we’re talking. Sit him down where he is. Give him a little more time to cool off.”

          Rick moved to turn away and head for the RV, but paused as Carl grasped his arm. Rick looked at his son, who said nothing. Instead, he communicated in the way they did so often– with wordless eye contact that somehow held a whole conversation. Carl held his father’s gaze, his hand lingering on Rick’s upper arm. Rick gazed back silently. He placed his hand on the side of Carl’s face, brushing some hair out of his face. He stepped back a few seconds later, signaling that they needed to move on. Carl let go of his dad’s arm reluctantly, keeping contact for as long as he could.

          Dwight prodded Carl with his gun, and Carl complied, sinking down to take seat on the ground. He took in the unspoken question on Michonne’s face: _Are you okay_? For the time being, he qualified. Carl nodded slightly as he sat down on the ground. Part of him felt almost ridiculed, being sat down in what was essentially centerstage in front of everybody.

          Rick paused at the door to the RV. He looked over his shoulder at Carl, who was plunked down in the center of the clearing. He nervously eyed Dwight and Simon. Rick wasn’t sure about Simon, but Dwight seemed trigger happy. He’d gone for much longer earlier, but that was before Carl had attacked Negan.

          “What are you waiting for? Get on up in there.” Negan ordered, jamming Lucille between Rick’s shoulder blades. Carl looked up just in time to make eye contact with his father as he climbed into the RV. Rick lingered in the doorway, not wanting to break the connection with his son, then turned away and entered the vehicle. Negan followed suite, and the door closed behind him. The clearing was rendered dead silent once more.

          Carl stared at closed door, fighting the growing sense of dread rising in him. Rick was all alone in the RV with Negan. Carl wouldn’t be there to interfere if anything went wrong. He could feel the despair lingering at the edges of his mind, whispering darkly and reminding him of everything that could happen, everything that could go horribly wrong. The rage-induced haze struggled to filter into his head. _Fight_ , it whispered. _Protect_ , it urged.

          Carl shook away the fog, bringing up one hand to grasp at the side of his head. He heard somebody shuffle nervously at the sudden movement. Good. Be scared. Carl glanced up to see a tall, scrawny, twig-of-a-man with a ridiculous mustache (seriously, the guy should’ve gotten rid of that) eye him suspiciously, apprehension glinting in his eyes. Carl studied the man for a second, before moving onto something more important—his family. He focused on the other members of his group, who he realized had been staring at him all this time.

          He met the eyes of each person, flitting from face to face. They wore similar expressions of confusion, worry, and shock. Shock, Carl realized, that was aimed at him. Carl suddenly felt mortified, which he frankly found ridiculous. Admittedly, attacking Negan wasn’t the brightest idea, but he couldn’t just sit back and let _it_ happen. Part of his brain chided him, saying _that_ wasn’t what was happening. But Carl had barely come down from mental collapse, and he didn’t know if he had been wrong or not.

          Inside the RV, Rick stood frozen by the door. Negan unceremoniously strolled around Rick. He settled down at the table and laced his fingers together, beaming impishly behind his hands. Rick belatedly realized Negan had sat down at the same table Rick had sat at. The same table where he’d nearly choked on the defeat looming over him. Rick wondered if Negan remembered. The roguish smile on Negan’s face told him yes. Rick felt a bright flare of anger that was ruthlessly dampened out by the same of feeling of failure. Being back in the RV was practically suffocating Rick. He felt shattered, just like he’d felt during the entire ride.

          “There it is! That kicked puppy look of yours. That shit’s hilarious.” Negan chuckled, idly tapping the table. He flicked his hand towards the seat across from him, “Well, take a seat. That’s a fucking order, so get your ass in gear. Don’t just fucking stand there, Jesus Christ.”

          Rick sighed silently. He complied, taking a seat across from Negan. Another realization struck him—they were in the same exact places too. Negan had everything planned out, didn't he?

          Negan studied Rick, tilting his head contemplatively. When Rick remained taciturn, Negan leaned forward, all jocularity vanishing from his face.

          “You have ten seconds to gather your thoughts or whatever poetic shit you’re doing, then you tell me what the _fuck_ is up with the little serial killer, or I go back out there and somebody’s gonna pay. It’ll may be the kid himself—didn’t really think it through, did he?—but probably not. If you’re not going to tell me, I’ll make him. So. One.”

          It abruptly occurred to Rick that Negan was actually counting down the ten seconds. Rick scrambled for a way to say it without giving Negan any sort of leverage. If he was blunt, he could just get it over with. But he knew he couldn’t be blunt about this. Where would he start? The Claimers. He’d start with the Claimers. He’d told Negan about them. Negan no doubt wanted to know who they were. Rick swallowed dryly. The hopelessness welling up in his throat made it hard to breathe. Just like before, the sense of loss was overwhelming.

          “...Seven. Eight.” Negan was honestly a bit surprised at Rick’s quietness. Was Rick really gonna be that stubborn?

Rick tightened his jaw.

          “Nine.” Negan sighed.

          “The Claimers were a group we ran into on our way to Alexandria,” Rick breathed, his voice grating his throat, “I killed one of their men.”

Negan raised his eyebrows, “Oh, so you only killed one of them, but you went ahead and killed a shit ton of _my_ men? Not really appreciating the special treatment, Rick.”

          Rick glared down at the table. He redirected his gaze at Negan and pointedly continued on, “I killed one of them while escaping by myself from a house I’d been staying in with Carl….and Michonne.”

          Rick reluctantly added the detail about Michonne. He sure as hell didn’t want to, but something told him that Negan would’ve been pissed if he found out Rick was keeping parts of explanation out. Negan would probably find out one way or another.

          “We were trying to find the rest of our group, and one night the Claimers snuck up on us when were out in the open.” Rick grit his teeth. _That_ part was coming up.

          “Okay, but you aren’t really telling me who the Claimers are, or why your kid flipped his shit.” Negan stated, pointing at the door of the RV in Carl’s direction, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m _totally_ intrigued by your story, but get to it.”

          “The Claimers….. _claimed_ things.”

          “No shit, Sherlock.”

Rick grimaced, “No...they had this system where they’d see something they liked, and they’d claim it.”

          Rick faltered. He dropped his gaze. It was getting harder to form the words. He desperately didn’t want to reveal something like this about Carl to _Negan_ of all people. He wondered if he could last minute change it to something else. Maybe he could say that the Claimers tried to kill Carl, but he knew just how bullshit that would sound. Everybody knew that this far into the apocalypse, people were nearly killed on a daily basis. Somebody or something must’ve tried to kill Carl at least a million times by now. That realization made Rick shudder, overtaken by another bout of parental instinct to protect.

          Rick felt another surge of anger, but this time it was aimed at the long dead Claimers. The world had gone to hell, the dead walked the earth, and _that_ was what they decided to do? He felt sick thinking about what the Claimers no doubt had done to other people, what they had almost done to _Carl_.

          “The Claimers, they….claim things....and _people_.”

Rick paused, listening for Negan’s reaction. The RV fell silent. Rick waited for Negan to say something, but nothing came. Rick chanced a look up at the other man.

          Negan looked at him, confusion evident on his features. Negan blinked a few times. He didn’t seem to catch what was Rick was saying. Rick’s eyes darted to the door, then back at Negan. Either Negan didn’t think the big revelation was a big deal, or he didn’t understand.

          “They claimed people. Like how you’d call dibs on shotgun? So the people were their slaves. What, did they make the people they claimed do all the dirty work?” Negan snorted. The idea sounded childish. Yes, people had things that belonged to them, like they claimed them, but the term “claim” sounded stupid.

          Rick took a deep breath. Negan didn’t understand. But that meant that maybe he’d still support what the Claimers did.

          “The people they claimed _were_ basically their slaves,” Rick grit his teeth. Here goes nothing. “But I don’t think the slaves were used for manual labor. They claimed people for themselves.”

Rick crossed his arms and waited, still looking down. Negan leaned back, cocking his head to the side. It took a second or two for him to get Rick’s drift.

          “You’re telling me that the Claimers are a bunch of fucking _rapists_?” Negan hissed. Rick looked up, startled. Negan sounded angry. Really angry.

          Negan _was_ angry. Negan had leaned forward again, his elbows planted firmly on the tabletop. His brow was furrowed with visible outrage, the dark eyes glinting with anger. Rick found himself gaping dumbly. Negan noticed right away, narrowing his eyes.

          “What, you thought I’d be _okay_ with that?” Negan barked, “I do NOT let that sort of shit fly.”

Rick couldn’t think of anything to say in response to that, so he didn’t. Now he’d have to tell Negan about what happened to Carl.

          “I killed one of them. They ambushed us one night on the road. They wanted revenge for me killing their guy.”

Rick scowled to himself. He kept his eyes firmly glued to the table.

          “One of them tried to…..” Rick uttered hoarsely, trailing off. He looked in the direction of the door again, “....Carl...”

There. Now Negan knew.

          Rick jumped when Negan slammed Lucille down on the table. Rick’s eyes shot to Negan, who was snarling angrily. Rick opened and closed his mouth like a fish.

          “One of ‘em tried to rape your kid?!” Negan raged. Rick almost flinched at the loud volume of the other man’s voice.

          “Tried to,” Rick repeated roughly, “I stopped him before he did anything.”

Negan seemed slightly assuaged by that information. He suddenly sobered up, eyes widening.

          “Oh, shit, I took my belt off. The kid probably thought…Must’ve scared the shit out of him. That explains why he flipped his shit like that.” Negan rubbed his jaw, looking almost sheepish. Rick was dumbfounded. So Negan definitely hated rapists and had a soft spot for kids. Negan.  Rick didn’t know what he had been expecting, but this wasn’t it.

          Negan sighed deeply, switching back to anger, “You have any idea where the Claimers may been now? I ain’t letting a bunch of fucking rapist assholes just run around freely. How many of them are they?”

Rick realized Negan was probably planning on wiping them out, or something like that. Rick shook his head. He’d already beaten Negan to that.

          “Were.” Rick found himself muttering. Negan blinked.

          “What?”

Rick crossed his arms, slowly dragging his gaze up to meet Negan’s.

          “Were. How many of them _were_ they.” Rick repeated gruffly.

          Negan’s eyebrows shot up. He whistled lowly, “Well, shit. You wiped ‘em all out?”

          Rick simply nodded, “We killed them after they ambushed us. After _he_ tried to hurt Carl.” Rick spat the word ‘he’ disgustedly, clenching his fists at his sides.

Negan was silent for a while. The silence settled around Rick, and he didn’t know if it was calming or suffocating.

          “So I set the kid off. I’m guessing it _was_ the belt thing.”

It dawned on Rick that Negan was expecting a response.

          “I think so.”

Negan just nodded. He dwelled on it a bit longer, turning over the memory in his mind.

          “I wasn’t anywhere near Carl, though,” Negan said. Rick blinked. Carl. Negan had referred to him by name, not just as ‘the kid’. “Hell, I wasn’t even facing him. Maybe it was the damn sound itself. But I was facing _you_. I was standing by you, not him.”

          Rick instantly made a face, then cursed himself. His shoulders slumped. Glancing up, he knew Negan had noticed the look on his face. Negan could tell Rick knew something. He hoped he wouldn’t have to get to this part. Despite knowing Negan looked down on rape, part of Rick was still wary. It was Negan, after all. The man had dubious morality. Rick’s gaze flitted downwards once more.

          “It wasn’t _himself_ he was scared for.” Rick practically whispered. He resisted the urge to shrink in on himself.

Another stretch of silence. Rick tossed a glance at Negan, who looked confused. Rick looked back down again. Negan would catch on some time.

Rick could practically sense the moment Negan understood what Rick was saying. Negan snorted, resting his chin on his hand.

          “Oh.” Negan said, amusement lacing his voice, “I gave off the totally fucking wrong impression. You definitely didn’t help, with all that kicked puppy shit you got going. Was it just Carl, or did it actually look like that?”

Rick cringed as Negan chuckled.

          “The kid’s got nothing to worry about. I sure as hell don’t swing that way, and I don’t think you do either,” Rick nodded mutely. Negan paused, “You don’t swing that way. Then again, maybe that would’ve been the point.”

Rick almost flinched.

          “Carl didn’t peg me as the protective type, though. And kids normally aren’t protective of their parents. Then again, he’d probably be protective of his one living parent since his mom died.”

Rick’s head bolted upright immediately. The comment was a physical blow, the air leaving his body in one large huff. Something in him wailed loudly. How did Negan know?

          “I had a feeling that was the case.“ Negan grinned knowingly. Rick’s reaction was all the confirmation he needed, “It wasn’t that hard to tell, really. He’s obviously your biological kid. You and the black chick are together, but she obviously couldn’t be the mom because Carl’s pasty as hell. So the birth mom must be….”

          Negan drew a line across his neck with his finger. Rick stared at him wordlessly. He was actually breathless now. Rick felt a familiar heartache he hadn’t felt in a long time. He had accepted Lori was dead, but hearing Negan taunt him about it nearly shattered him into a million pieces.

          Rick knew his emotions were clearly displayed on his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Negan chuckled, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. Rick wondered if what Negan said was true. Carl watched over Judith, that was for sure, but _him_? Rick protected other people, not the other way around. _He_ was supposed to keep his people safe (something, Rick thought bitterly, he repeatedly failed at). It was up to Rick to keep himself alive. Carl protected Judith, Rick protected the both of them and Michonne and everybody else. That was the order. At least, that was the order he knew.

          Rick had always known that part of Carl’s protectiveness over Judith was partly because she was the last remnants of Lori. Carl loved Judith as she was, but at the same time, Judith held a piece of his past, back when he still had some innocence remaining. Carl had been furious at Rick for letting the prison fall, but he had been even more mad at him for Judith’s supposed death. But had Negan seen something he hadn’t?

Objectively, it made sense. One parent had died, the child wanted to safeguard the one still standing. But to Rick, it just didn’t add up. He wasn’t supposed to be sheltered. He was the parent, after all. It was his role to defend.

          Negan chortled at Rick’s whole demeanor. The poor fucker was probably overwhelmed by everything that was happening. Mentioning the dead wife might have been a dick move. But he still needed to break Rick. And he was letting Rick get off easy, really. Carl had attacked him, and he’d let it slide. He didn’t blame the kid, now that he knew why Carl had charged, but still. They could’ve been in for a real shit storm.

How long had they been in there? Not that long, but Negan wondered if the little serial killer was getting paranoid in their absence. It _seemed_ like Carl had calmed down, but who knew? They should probably get back out there before the kid went crazy again.

          “Alright.” Negan slapped the table with one palm and stood up, pointing Lucille at Rick, “Let’s get your sorry ass back out there, or your kid may freak out again. Tell him he’s got nothing to worry about. Seriously.”

          Rick grimaced. He was going to do that either way. He stood up, his body creaking in protest, as Negan sauntered over to the door. Negan threw a look back to check if Rick had followed orders. Satisfied with the obedience, the slightly-humane Negan disappeared and was replaced with the heartless showman. He slammed the door open with a bang and stepped out.

          Negan grinned broadly as every face in the clearing turned towards him instantly. The Saviors standing watch over the group on the ground immediately straightened up and pointed their guns at the back of their heads. Huh. The fuckers had relaxed while he was gone. Understandable, but he’d have to fix that later.

          Trepidation was painted across the face of each person seated on the ground. What was the price for what happened? Who was going to pay?  It was obvious everybody was waiting for Negan’s verdict. There was tangible uneasiness in the air, which no doubt meant everybody expected there to be _serious_ consequences. That was good. If they had expected anything else, they’d have been dumb as hell. But they didn’t know what Negan knew.

          Negan regarded Carl, who wasn’t even _looking_ at him. The boy’s eye was trained on the RV behind him, worry plastered across his face. The kid didn’t seem like he was going to lose it, but Negan kept an eye on him, just in case Carl decided to make things worse for his group again.

 

Rick finally stepped out behind Negan. The disquiet in the clearing lowered a bit at the revelation that Rick was still alive.

          He looked fine, for the most part. Granted, he was sporting a slightly haunted look, but he seemed physically untouched. Carl let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and moved to get up, but stopped when Dwight jabbed him in the shoulder with his gun. Rick noted the apprehension on his family’s faces and his blood ran cold. Now that he thought about it, Negan had never what the consequences were going to be. He’d never specifically said that Carl was off the hook.

Rick wouldn’t put it below Negan to act all sympathetic toward Carl and then kill him. He glanced Negan, who had turned towards him.

          His anxiousness must’ve been clear, because Negan just chuckled in response. He tucked one thumb into a belt loop and swung Lucille at his side in what seemed to be an absent-minded gesture, but was obviously a silent threat. Rick flinched.

          “Today’s your lucky day, folks! Out of the goodness of my heart, I’m letting his,” Negan pointed at Carl, “actions slide! You’re fucking welcome.”

          An instant wave of shocked whispering rippled through the Saviors, coupled with the stunned looks from Rick’s group. Negan put up a hand, indicating that everybody needed to shut the fuck up and listen.

          “Now, this is a one time thing! I’ll have _everyone_ know that next time something like this happens, I won’t be so kind. You’re probably wondering what the hell it is that made me make such a generous decision. Well, you can ask ol’ Rick here, or maybe even the kid himself! They know, or at least Rick does. Though I don’t think he’s gonna tell ya.”

Negan leaned backwards casually. He faced Rick, who had gained back some color in his relief.

          “So, am I going to get a ‘thank you’?” Negan taunted, flashing Rick a Cheshire cat smile. Rick stared at Negan for a few seconds before he comprehended the request, which was more of an order. His jaw tightened, but Rick knew better than to push his luck.

          “Thank you.” Rick muttered lowly.

          “I’m sorry, what was that? Either I’m going deaf or you’re going mute, Rick.” Negan mocked. Rick scowled. He knew Negan heard him.

          “Thank. You.” Rick repeated, louder this time. The whole clearing could hear. He knew that was what Negan wanted.

          “There we go!” Negan exclaimed, one hand snapping into a finger gun and pointing at Rick, “You’re absolutely welcome.”

          Rick resisted the urge to roll his eyes. With that over, he focused on Carl. Rick took a step towards Carl, then froze. Grudgingly, he returned his gaze to Negan, looking for clearance. He utterly _despised_ having to ask Negan for permission, but it with what had happened, Rick didn’t want to push his luck.

          “Go ahead,” Negan acquiesced tauntingly.

          Rick strode towards Carl and crouched down beside the boy. Carl instantly grabbed Rick’s arm and dragged his father closer to him. His slightly wide eye scanned his dad, vigilantly looking for—well, he didn’t know what he was looking for. Bruises, maybe. A new injury of some sort, or any incriminating evidence that Rick had been hurt. When Carl found nothing of the sort, his heart finally stopped pounding. His loosened his grip but didn’t let go. Another sigh of relief escaped him. Carl gradually met his father’s gaze, which could only be described as soulful.

Carl’s mouth suddenly felt dry. He shifted almost anxiously. He sat up straighter, his other hand twitching slightly.

          “Dad.” Was all Carl voiced. Somehow, that one word carried across more than Carl could ever articulate in actual sentences. The one word was laden with unspoken thoughts and feelings. Rick understood. It was basically their main form of communication nowadays.

          “Are you alright?” Rick asked softly. Carl stared at Rick. For a moment, Rick thought Carl didn’t comprehend the question.

          “I—I’m okay now, I guess,” Carl said, though it was more of a sigh that happened to sound like words, “What about you?”

          Rick exhaled deeply, “Does it matter? I—”

          “Yes, it _**does**_.” Carl interjected angrily. The grip on Rick’s arm turned slightly bruising. His knuckles turned white. Rick was momentarily taken aback. He studied Carl for a moment, briefly at a loss for words. Carl set a steady gaze on his father, “Are you okay?”

Rick nodded. He dropped his gaze, looking down at his hands.

          “Yeah.” Rick muttered. He looked at the hand gripping his forearm. The knuckles of Carl’s hand were slowly regaining color. Carl haltingly released Rick. Rick stayed where he was, looking back up at Carl. Another moment of wordlessly articulate eye contact passed between the two. It was amazing, really, how much they could express without using words. Carl squeezed his dad’s forearm before fully letting go. Rick sat back, making sure to keep close. He started to say something but was instantly cut off by Negan.

          “Well isn’t this just all warm and heartfelt?” Negan interrupted brazenly, “That’s adorable and all, but shut up. I got some shit to tell you sorry fucks.”

          The father-son duo obliged. Both felt too drained to rebel at the moment. There was a  brief moment of quiet as Negan ensured that Rick and Carl had followed instructions. He turned silently and scrutinized the two, before pivoting so that he was facing Rick’s group as a whole.

          “Well, we’re almost done here, but I think you need to hear the rules again. Especially you, kid.” Negan gestured towards Carl. Carl tensed up, leveling Negan with a dark, almost warning glare. Negan decided to let it slide. The kid was getting off easy, but he was probably still all crazy and shit on the inside. Negan snorted bemusedly and carried on.

          Rick, for the most part, blocked out Negan’s words. He remembered the terms of their new “agreement”. Instead, he focused on Carl, who seemed to be tuning Negan out just as much. One of Carl’s arms was propped up on one knee, the other resting on his extended left leg. His unseeing gaze was locked on the shoe of the extended leg. At least, he seemed to be looking in that direction. The gaze was a thousand-mile stare, honestly.

          Rick absentmindedly rubbed the thumb and forefinger of his left hand together. He drifted away from the clearing and into his thoughts, which, to be truthful, didn’t offer much of a refuge. So Negan had let Carl off easy. As much as that relieved Rick, he was worried about what may happen when Negan began seeing through with their ‘agreement’. Carl was no doubt furious about having to give over so many over their supplies to the Saviors. Everybody would be. But Carl was always a bit impulsive and short-tempered, a fact backed up by everything that had happened. And after today Rick had a feeling Negan would be keeping an eye on Carl, probably to make sure he didn’t attack anybody, or, more specifically, any Savior.

          When the time came for Alexandria to fork over its supplies, Carl was, without a doubt, going to put up a fight. Rick didn’t think Carl would react as strongly as he did today, but with Negan keeping an eye on him, they would probably try to stomp out Carl’s rebellion as quickly as possible. The repercussions would most likely be unnecessarily severe. Carl _had_ gotten off easy, but Rick knew more trouble was on the horizon.

          Rick supposed that was life giving him a break, with Carl being let off the hook and all. But the reason for Carl even being put on the hook in the first place troubled him. It’d been a while since they’d talked about the incident with the Claimers. And Rick wanted to know if Carl felt some odd duty to protect him because of Lori’s death. He’d talk to Carl about it later. Whenever “later” was.

          Rick cast a glance at his son. Carl continue to stare unfocused at his shoe, then veered his gaze at Rick with unexpected abruptness. He looked at his father with an startling focus, the single blue eye drilling into him.

          “I—” Carl began quietly to avoid being detected by Negan. He stopped, trying to think of the right words to say what he was feeling, “I’m sorry.”

          Carl watched his Dad’s brow slowly furrow. His mouth opened slightly, then closed. That meant two things—he was angry or confused. Dad’s head cocked, but slightly. That was the confusion tilt. If Rick tilted any further, it meant somebody(ies) was going to die. Carl had noticed, probably alongside everybody else, that Rick tended to tilt his head whenever he was entering FIGHT mode. For some reason, the memory almost made Carl smile.

          “What do you mean?” Rick whispered back. What was Carl sorry for? Rick knew that this, all of this, was all his fault. If he’d just done _better_ , his people would never have been at the mercy of the Saviors.

          For whatever reason, his Dad didn’t seem to understand what Carl was trying to say. Carl just shook his head mutely.

          “Welcome to a brand new beginning, you sorry sack of shits!” Negan’s exclamatory voice cut through their hushed conversation. Around them, Saviors began to leave. Just like that, it was as if a dam was broken. The feeling of numb brokenness evaporated.

Saviors filtered away into their vehicles, packing up and leaving the group they had terrorized kneeling in the clearing. Rick noted that a single truck remained untouched. Probably for them to use to get supplies for the Saviors.

The sound of shoes hitting the ground gradually got closer until Rick felt something poke his shoulder. He looked up to see Negan retracting Lucille, still bearing his practically trademark wolfish grin.

          “Make sure to keep your kid in line next time.” Negan goaded. Carl looked up at the sound of Negan’s voice, his gaze icy and sharp. Negan smiled wider at the contempt-filled look Carl cast at him. The kid could _definitely_ go places.

          Carl shifted forward. He looked close to growling at Negan, his mouth twitching into a snarl. Negan raised his eyebrows. He considered threatening the kid by swinging Lucille near his head, but if he knew anything about Carl, he knew that wouldn’t scare him. Instead, Negan swung Lucille next to Rick. Negan found himself almost admiring how Rick didn’t even flinch. Carl, on the other hand, jumped about five feet into the air. He almost lunged forward, but stopped himself at the last moment.

          “Watch it, kid. I already told you I won’t be this nice next time.”

          Carl glared at him—kid looked kinda fucking insane—but leaned back pointedly. Bingo. The kid was just like his dad. _Ohhhh, go ahead and hurt_ **_me_** _, but please, not anybody else!!!_ Negan knew he was pushing the kid’s limits, but that was the point. Carl needed to learn that not matter how pissed off he got, he did _not_ fuck with Negan.

          He understood the kid had nearly been raped, but he expected Rick to talk to Carl and tell the kid to calm down. Or at least not _attack_. He waited a little longer, watching the father-son duo look like the miserable little shits that they were. It was hilarious, really.

          Negan let the moment pass. He swung Lucille onto his shoulder, taking a few steps backwards.

          “Ta-ta!” He taunted, before finally leaving Rick’s group to themselves.

          Rick let out a silent, shuddery breath. The entire time he’d practically been holding himself together with rubber bands, but now even those snapped. Now what? What did he do now? Everybody probably expected him to find a way out of their shitty situation, like he was supposed to. He was their strong, courageous leader.

          Rick knew that had always been a lie.

He had nothing. He had no idea what to do to escape this. Now he understood why the Hilltop had been so scared of the Saviors. The wind whistled, and he _swore_ he could hear the Saviors whistling with it.

          The Saviors drove off, leaving behind a stifling quiet in the clearing. Rick’s family reeled with shock and grief as the sound of rumbling engines slowly quieted. Eventually, the clearing was entrenched in a bone-chilling silence.

Somewhere up above, a bird chirped. It was too loud.

          They sat there in quietude for who knows how long. Nothing moved, until Carl wordlessly reached for the Sheriff’s hat resting on the ground near him. In one quick motion, Carl picked it up and put it back on. The rim of the hat dipped low, hiding most of Carl’s face.

          “Carl.” The silence was broken when Rick softly whispered his son’s name. The weary voice was louder than the birds chirping, yet somehow not at the same time.

The rim of the Sheriff’s hat rose when Carl heard his name. It rose even higher when Carl looked up at his dad.

          “Why were you...” Rick lapsed into silence. He felt a deep sense of weariness tugging at his limbs, “You said you were sorry.”

Carl’s shoulders rose and fell slowly in what was a deep, muted sigh. He tipped his head back, looking up at the grey sky.

          “Yeah. I’m sorry,” Carl elaborated, his voice a low, hushed grumble. He swung his head back down, “I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have attacked Negan. I put everybody in danger. He could’ve killed you for what I did.”

Carl swallowed dryly, now avoiding eye contact. One hand clawed at the fabric of his pants.

          “Carl, it’s not...This, all of this, it’s _my_ fault...so don’t think of it like that. We have to talk about it.” Rick murmured. Carl looked at his dad, tensing up. He didn’t feeling like talking about it. He was pretty sure he was still _in_ it. Rick immediately noticed the tension in Carl’s frame.

          “We don’t have to talk about it now. We’ll do that later, but I need to understand.”

          “I think I know why I snapped like that...it couldn’t have been anything else…” Carl uttered gruffly and tamped down on the urge to break something. He thought of that night, then what he’d seen today. Instantly, he clenched his fists, struggling for control. A flare of pain from his hands surprised Carl.

          Carl unfurled his fists and glared at the palms of his hands, demanding an answer for the pain. The palms of his hands were slightly bloodied with crescent-moon shaped cuts. The cuts weren’t bleeding heavily, but little dots of red still decorated the edges of some of the cuts. The shape of the cuts told him it had been his fingernails that had cut into his skin. When had that happened?

          Carl still didn’t remember all that much from a few minutes ago. Negan had called him over, and he’d just been standing there, and then he heard _that noise._  Then he looked up, only to see Negan standing over Rick. Everything had slowly derailed after that, up until he saw Negan straddling Dad, his hand wrapped around Dad’s throat. And then everything had just plummeted. The image was still seared into the underside of his eyelids. The rational part of him was in charge now, so Carl knew that he’d taken everything the wrong way. But the image still lingered in his mind. A silent snarl reflexively decorated Carl’s face. He clenched his jaw, trying to reign in the anger that was attempting to rear its head at the mere memory. His vision flickered red. It burned, _oh god, it burned._

          Rick watched with a sinking feeling as Carl began to shake. Dipping his head, Rick glanced under the rim of the Sheriff’s hat. A familiar sense of dismay gripped him when he noticed the anger etched into Carl’s face. Carl was slipping. Rick shot forward, then slowed down as he realized that quick movement might only startle Carl.

          “Carl, it’s okay, it’s….” Rick broke off. It was what? Fine? No, it wasn’t.

He gently touched Carl’s shoulder. He latched on, hoping his grip was firm but not uncomfortably so.

          “I’m fine.” Rick said, suddenly aware of how desperate he sounded. He let go of Carl’s shoulder and instead touched his fist. He tried to envelop it in his own, but he couldn’t with just one hand. Carl had gotten bigger one day, and Rick hadn’t even noticed. He settled for gently gripping Carl’s wrist, “I—I….I’m here. I’m here.”

          Carl stopped shaking. His fists unfurled slowly, leaving Rick gently squeezing his open hand. Rick didn’t notice Carl putting himself back together. Carl blinked, looking at his father’s hand placed over his own. It was soothing, really, but to Carl it seemed like his dad was getting desperate.

          “I’m here.” Rick repeated softly, urgently. Negan was gone now— _just for now, Rick_ —he could help Carl. _Could he_?

          Carl glanced at his father. With a bit of a jolt, Carl realized that Dad needed him to be okay just as much he needed Dad to be okay. But what qualified as “okay” anymore? Carl didn’t know. He knew one thing, though.

          Carl lifted his hand, dislodging his wrist from Rick’s hold, and squeezed Rick’s hand.

          “Yeah. You’re here. I’m here too.” Carl said softly.

          Rick blinked. The wetness pooling at the rims of his eyes finally overpoured. The tears trickled down his face, leaving behind a trail of clean skin in the dirt and blood on his face. Carl’s face lit up with worry, before calming down at the realization that the tears, surprisingly enough, weren’t tears of anguish.

          When Carl blinked, he realized that a few tears had gathered in his eyes as well. Rick rubbed away the few tears of his own that had fallen and cleared his throat. He pulled the boy into a one-armed hug, thankful now more than ever that Carl was alive. Carl immediately turned and returned the hug. The ferocity of the gesture squeezed a huff of air out of Rick.

          Despite everything, a hint of a smile flickered across Rick’s face.

          “Yeah. We’re here.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I’ll upload soon,” she said.
> 
> “Wow,” She said, uploading more than a month later, “I’m a total fucking liar.”  
> ....
> 
> SORRY ABOUT THAT. This chapter was originally going to be much longer, but I had to cut it short because it was taking so long. Forgive me for my sins. And I’m reeeally sorry to anybody who genuinely liked this mess of a fanfic enough to be waiting for an update. So yeah, this was supposed to be waaaay longer but now it’s getting cut into separate chapters. *cri*
> 
> But hey it’s finally here, right? *snaps fingerguns awakwardly* To all the other eternally single people out there, Happy Valentines Day! Think of this as your Valentines gift, from none other than lil’ old me. Sorry if it seems rushed. It's cause it was lmao rIP ***CRI***
> 
> Aight, that’s enough rambling. Let’s get to it.

The majority of everything after the Saviors left was a blur. Rushing to the Hilltop, anxiously waiting for the doctor to declare Maggie’s condition, and feeling an almost out-of-place feeling of relief. Then, as Maggie rested, burying Abraham.

          Well—not everything was a blur. Rick remembered, with startling clarity, the moment he noticed he was crying. He had been kneeling over Abraham’s grave, when he realized that the little droplets falling onto the soil weren’t raindrops.

          Rick also remembered trying to convince Maggie, after she awoke, that he didn’t need Glenn to come back to Alexandria; it would be best if he stayed with Maggie at Hilltop while she recovered. Of course, Maggie had refused and practically ordered Glenn to go back to Alexandria with everybody else; he could come to Hilltop a few days later. With Daryl taken prisoner, the group needed as much as help as it could get to sort out the mess that would no doubt come with the shift of power from Rick to the Saviors.

          Speaking of the shift of power, the Alexandrians’ reactions to it surprised Rick in a good _and_ bad way, oddly enough. After returning to Alexandria, the Alexandrians immediately noticed the shell-shocked gaze of the group and began asking questions. On the porch of his house, Rick had declared, with a bone-deep need to mourn, that Abraham was dead and things were going to be different from now on.

          He then walked into his house and promptly collapsed on the couch.

          That was yesterday.

 

Carl looked down at Judith, sitting peacefully in her stroller and kicking her little feet. At least she was happy.

          Enid watched Carl as he leaned over the back of Judith’s stroller to gaze down at the little girl. This was new. Carl _did_ occasionally stroll Judith around town, but he normally didn’t just wheel her around with him when he was doing something. Carl taking Judith on a walk normally entailed him taking her around the town for a bit and then returning home. A walk was planned out. Now, Carl was just taking her along with him.

           Right now, the trio was watching over the Alexandrians as they placed supplies onto a large table on the street. Just that morning, Rick had broke the news to the Alexandrians that Negan was in charge now, not him, and that they owed half of everything to the Saviors. Not everybody seemed to fully understand the full gravity of their situation, though. It was only a matter of time before somebody got pissed off.

           From their spot on the grass, Enid and Carl were in sight of Michonne, who was conversing with Glenn. Further down the street, Aaron was helping Olivia lug a large box towards the table. The street and sidewalk were filled with Alexandrians. It was as if the table was the center of change, which in a sense, it was. The table was covered in all the things that were for the Saviors. In the middle of it all was Rick, looking both large and small at the same time.

          “This is new,” Enid said.

          “You’re going to have to be more specific.” Carl retorted, turning to look at her. Enid raised her eyebrows.

          “When did you start taking Judith around with you?” She asked.

          Carl responded with an eloquent shrug, “I don’t know. Just felt like she might need some fresh air.”

          Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t entirely sure, to be honest. This morning, as he was leaving the house with his Dad and Michonne, Carl had felt the overwhelming urge to being Judith along as well. He just wanted to make sure he could see all of them, including his little sister, so he decided to take Judith along in her stroller. From where he and Enid were standing, Carl could also see Rick and Michonne.

He just wanted to keep an eye them, that was all.

           Rick watched the Alexandrians add to the pile of supplies with a growing sense of unease. Right now, they were taking the news better than he expected. Of course, they seemed disgruntled that they had to give away half of their supplies, but many of them seemed to be under the impression that this was a one time thing. Rick had no idea how the Saviors’ first visit would go, but he didn’t think it would go well; that was for sure. Negan had said that he’d stop by for the supplies in a week. That seemed like enough time to get everybody mentally prepared for the new reign that they were going to live under.

          Rick hung his head, pinching the skin between his eyebrows. How would the Alexandrians get by like this? Half of their supplies didn’t seem all that bad _now_ , but what about a few weeks later? Would half be enough to support them?

          This was all his goddamn fault. He shouldn’t have been so _cocky_. Maybe if he had actually thought through his plan on dealing with the Saviors, they could’ve won. But thanks to his overconfidence, everybody was going to suffer (hell, his group had already suffered) and Abraham was—Rick shook his head. No, he couldn’t think about it here, in the street. If he started thinking about it, he’d never stop. There were too many people around, people who shouldn’t be around to see him lose it. Rick took a deep breath and shut down that line of thought, lifting his head and returning his attention to the activity around him. 

           His gaze drifted over to his son, who was standing on the other side of the street, further down the road on the grass past the sidewalk. Enid stood next to him, and judging from her hand gesture aimed at the stroller, they were talking about Judith. Rick was still vaguely surprised to see Carl strolling Judith around with him.

          Speaking of Carl...Rick wanted to talk to his son, but he hadn’t found the time. After getting back to Alexandria, they were all too tired to manage a conversation like that, and Rick wanted to talk about it when they actually could. He treated it seriously, because it _was_  and he was beyond worried. Carl had never talked about the _effect_ the assault had on him, but now Rick wasn’t going to wait for the teen to bring it up first.

          A soothingly familiar voice brought him out of his reverie.

          “Rick.” Michonne’s voice said, plain and simple. Plain and simple in a _good_ way. Michonne’s aomwtimws brief communication was just something about her, something Rick had grown used to. Maybe it was because of what happened, but Rick felt a sudden rush of gratefulness at just...knowing people. Coexisting beside them. Having a family. With the way things were nowadays, it was soothing to realize that you _had_ a family; people who just understood you. Of course, you could lose a part of that family in an instant. A family could shrink, break.

          But it was still a family.

          “Yeah?” Rick responded, glancing up at her. He shifted his weight to his left leg, putting his hands on his hips. Michonne looked him in the eye, then darted her gaze at the people moving around them. She tilted her head toward their house, indicating that she wanted to speak privately.

          Rick showed his compliance with a tilt of his head, and followed Michonne as she turned and moved towards the building. He fell into step alongside her, and the two glided toward their house in comfortable silence. Only when they climbed up the stairs and faced each other on the porch did Michonne speak.

          “It’s Carl.” Michonne began. She shifted closer, worry creeping into her voice,“We need to talk about what happened.”

          Rick couldn’t agree more. He had already planned on talking about it with Michonne, just after talking over it with Carl, but he wasn’t going to delay their conversation just to follow the order of his plans. And now that he thought about it, he should probably talk about it with everyone else that had been there in the clearing. They wanted to know—there were no doubts about that— but they were curious in a worried way. He’d seen it on their faces on the ride to the Hilltop, and even more so on the ride back to Alexandria, once Maggie had been delivered to the safety of a doctor. As Carl had leaned his head against the window with his eye closed, Rick seated next to him, it was hard not to notice the glances in their direction. At one point, he and Michonne had made eye contact, and Rick had given her a silent “ _later_ ” sort of look. Between the quick glances were the soft whispers every now and then. Glenn had looked like he wanted to ask, but decided against it.

          “Yeah, yeah. I wanted to talk to him, but…” Rick uttered gruffly. He raised his hand, then let it drop back down to his side, “I think we should talk with everybody else too. I mean, they were there.”

          They were just as much Rick’s family as Carl’s.

          “I know. I’ve already rounded them all up and told them to wait inside—” Michonne tilted her head towards the door of the house, “—while I got you.”

          “You already planned this out.” Rick observed, more of a statement than a question.

          “Maybe.” Michonne shot back, before she opened the door, allowing her and Rick to slip inside. Within the living room was Glenn, Rosita, Aaron, and Eugene. Glenn and Rosita were leaning against different sections of the wall, while Eugene and Aaron sat on the sofa. R. Aaron got to his feet as Rick and Michonne entered, looking almost guilty.

          “I don’t anything about whatever it was that happened to Carl, but I know it’s something…” Aaron paused, trying to find the right word, “...big. Something personal. If he or you don’t want me to know, I can—”

         “No, it’s fine. You’re one of us.” Rick waved him off. That out the way, Rick decided to jump right in. He took a moment to figure out where to begin, what to say. Glenn beat him to it.

          “I may be wrong, but,” Glenn said, pushing himself off the wall to stand upright, “you said something about the Claimers, when Negan asked what was wrong with Carl. Most of us caught on then, but I'm not sure if what we thought was right.”

          Rick reflexively scowled at the mention of the Claimers.

          “Who are the Claimers?” Aaron asked tentatively.

          “A group we ran into a while before you found us.” Michonne murmured, seemingly deep in thought, “We were out on the road one night, and they caught up to us.”

          “They broke into the house I’d been staying in while Carl and Michonne were out on a run. I tried to escape unnoticed, but I bumped straight into one of them in the bathroom. I killed him before he could say anything. They wanted revenge, so they tracked us down.” Rick added, filling in the blanks of Michonne’s explanation.

           “I do believe it was before you met me, Rosita, and—” Eugene abruptly stopped speaking. A heaviness settles over the room at the reminder of Abraham, or, more specifically, the fact that he was gone. Nobody spoke for a minute or two, as if they owed Abraham a moment of silence. After what Eugen deemed an appropriate amount of time, he resumed speaking, “Us. Before you met us.”

          “Yeah.” Rick murmured. His hands came up to rest on his hips again,“Aaron, the Claimers. They...they claimed things. People. Daryl had been with them, but he didn’t know.”

          Another collective wince hit the group as they were reminded of yet another loss, albeit of a different kind. While Daryl hadn’t been killed, nobody knew what he would face as a prisoner of the Saviors. Nothing good, that was for sure. Who knew when he would be back, or if he would ever be back at all?

          “Most of you know, but one of them...” Rick paused, his mouth running dry. His jaw clenched tightly as he seethed at the mere memory.

          “One of them tried to rape Carl.” Rick rumbled lowly, “It didn’t get that far. They’re all dead. _He_ ’s dead, but there’s no forgetting something like that.”

          A horrified look flashed across Aaron’s face, the man startled by the new yet familiar reminder of just how fucked up people could be.

          “Is that why Carl attacked Negan?” Aaron queried, “Was he set off?”

          “Sure looked like it,” Glenn murumured in agreement, “Carl had been like stone up until then. But are you sure it had to do with the Claimers? I mean, maybe I didn’t notice, but there wasn’t anything that stuck out that made it seem like Carl was being threatened in that way.”

          “Negan took his belt off.” Michonne said, turning an inquisitive glance at Rick. He belatedly realized that everybody was looking at him for answers, as if he was the expert.

          “Negan did not seem to be aiming in that direction, despite his rather crude word choice. In fact, I believe the belt was going to be used as some sort of weapon, or a tourniquet perhaps.” Eugene analyzed, unnecessarily wordy as usual, “In addition, he was standing a good distance away from Carl.”

          “But people can get triggered in all sorts of ways,” Glenn said, shaking his head, “Everyone’s different. Negan wasn’t facing Carl, or close to him, but the fact that he took his belt off might’ve been enough.”

          Michonne, however, was still eyeing Rick. He was in deep thought, and the fact that he hadn’t said anything in response to the group's theories told her that they were on the wrong track.

          “Rick?” She prompted softly, breaking Rick out of his thoughts. He glanced back at her, and they held each other’s gaze for a few seconds. Rick finally cleared his throat, and spoke.

          “It had to do with the Claimers. It _had_ to. It couldn’t be anything else. But Carl, he wasn’t scared for himself. I—I don’t _know_ , but I think he was scared for _me._ ”

          Another silence permeated the room, but this one was a silence of bewilderment. Almost identical expressions of startled confusion stared back at Rick, before switching to something more contemplative. At first glance, Rick’s explanation didn’t match up, even if it wasn’t out of question. However, the more you thought about it, the more it made sense: the way Carl was more angry than scared, the way he stood between Negan and Rick, and, of course, “ _DON’T TOUCH HIM”_.  

          “Negan was facing you when he took his belt off.” Michonne murmured.

          “And Carl attacked Negan when he pinned you down.” Glenn added, realization dawning on his face.

          “Did his mind start warping things?” Aaron asked suddenly, “I mean, did Carl being set off make him start seeing things in that way?”

          “I have, in a few rare scenarios—given that my line of work before everything went to hell was completely unaligned with such things—seen such circumstances where somebody who has undergone traumatizing events has felt the need to protect those they consider close to them because of paranoia stemming from their traumatization. They unconsciously reflect their previous trauma onto somebody else even if the situation at hand has nothing in particular to do with their past situation.” Eugene monologued, the gears of his mind turning faster.

          There was a bit of a pause as everybody took a few seconds to internally translate the man’s words.

          “You’re saying that when some people are reminded of a past trauma, their mind can push the situation onto somebody else?” Aaron inquired, his mind wrapping around the concept. It made sense, he supposed. Everybody was different. People reacted to certain things differently.

          Eugene nodded in confirmation. Michonne turned the new information over in her head, reflecting on it in an almost philosophical way. With the way things were, Carl was used to being attacked, albeit not in that specific manner. Still, the idea of him being hurt wasn’t foreign to him. Hell, he was missing an eye. Carl had stopped thinking of himself as a victim long, long ago. It was just in him, especially given the fact that he had a baby sister. So he projected his trauma onto his Dad, because his mind wanted to do what it was used to: fight and protect. It didn’t seem like the healthiest way to cope, but how you just refuse what your mind is showing you?

          “What did you tell Negan?” Michonne queried. Rick dropped his gaze, guilt welling up within him, as well as a rising feeling of strangulation. The memory of him spilling the truth to Negan about why Carl had suddenly become some sort of wounded animal always reminded him of just how _suffocated_ he had felt the entire time.

          “The truth. I didn’t want to risk anything by lying. He’d find out, one way or another. Negan was _angry_  when I told him, like he wanted to hunt down the Claimers for what they did. It’s why he didn’t punish anybody for it.”

          Rosita barked out a short, bitter laugh, “Nice to know he draws the line at rape. I didn’t think he’d even give a shit.”

          The wound that was Abraham’s death would take a long, long time to heal. But even if that hadn’t been the case, they still would’ve been surprised. After all, it was _Negan._ He didn’t exactly give off the impression that he had morals of any sort. They weren’t sure what to make of it, but Rick supposed it was a blessing, given how Negan let Carl off the hook.

           “I can’t see any advantage Negan would gain by pretending to oppose sexual harassment,” Eugene pondered, “aside from perhaps trying to gain trust. But given the nature of his introduction, Negan wouldn’t be as stupid as to believe he could gain our trust. If he seemed to oppose it, he may truly oppose it.”

          “We’ll take what can.” Glenn muttered bitterly, arms crossed.

          “You haven’t talked to Carl yet?” Michonne asked Rick, a cross between a question and a statement. Rick shook his head no, a silent deep sigh racking his body.

          “No. I—I _wanted_ to, but after we got back, it didn’t seem like the right time. It was just….not the time. And this morning, when we called the meeting to tell everybody, I was too busy to actually sit down and talk with him. I don’t want it to be just a quick, two-minute talk. This needs an actual _conversation_. He needs to talk about it, _we_ need to talk about it.” Rick fiddled with his hands, running the thumb of one over the palm of the other. His mouth ran dry, his voice gravelly and scratchy, but he kept talking.

          “When the Claimer tried to...it got to Carl. How could it **_not_ ** ? Me and Michonne talked to him a few times, separately, but after a while he just brushed it off. He didn’t want to talk about it. Hell, I don’t think he even _thought_ about it, ever. Carl, he forgot about it, I think. With how fast everything happens nowadays, especially back then, he  just pushed it aside. There was Terminus, then there was just trying to survive, then there was trying to fit in at Alexandria.”

          Rick was aware he was starting to ramble, but he couldn’t stop.

          “Carl forgot about it. Or at least, he didn’t let himself remember. And after the few first talks, it was obvious he didn’t want to talk about it, so I backed off. I thought maybe he just needed to let it be. He’s independent. I thought he’d sort it out, since he didn’t want to talk about it. Some people are like that, I thought he was like that, he _seemed_ like that. But look at how that actually worked out.”

          Rick took a deep breath, finished. He dropped his gaze. He needed to find time to talk with Carl, sometime soon. Time to actually have a private conversation, one that wasn’t hurried or interrupted.

          “You’ll find time soon,” Glenn said, in an appreciated attempt to console Rick. Glenn drummed his fingers on his other arm, a sudden thought occurring to him, “You think Carl’s avoiding talking about it? What happened in the clearing, I mean. He’s been around all day, but not close enough for you to to bring something like that up privately. Distant, but close enough to keep an eye on things.”

          Michonne and Rick blinked in surprise, exchanging a look. Could that be it? Carl had been reluctant to talk about what happened with the Claimers; this wouldn’t be out of the question. Was Carl purposely making himself somewhat sparse to avoid talking about it?

          Michonne opened her mouth to say something, but before a single sound could come out, she was cut off by a loud shout from outside. The group exchanged startled looks before storming towards the door. Michonne slammed the door open and they all poured out onto the porch. As Rick climbed down the stairs, he spotted what must’ve been the source of the commotion.                   

          Standing by the table were Spencer and Olivia, seemingly deep in an argument. Spencer wasn’t full-on shouting, but his entire demeanor portrayed just how enraged he was. Every now and then, he would gesture at the tribute table indignantly. Only somebody both blind and deaf would be unable to tell that he was mad.

          Carl had been watching Spencer get riled up for a while now, debating on whether or not him stepping in would do the situation any good. However, Spencer’s voice rose, which began to attract a crowd. Carl narrowed his eye at Spencer, who was definitely arguing with Olivia now.

          He turned the handles of Judith’s stroller towards Enid. Enid glanced down at the handles, a bit startled.

          “Hold onto her for a bit.” Carl said, his gaze still trained on the argument. Enid complied, taking the stroller from Carl. With Judith in safe hands, Carl began making his way towards Spencer. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, noticing that his dad, Michonne, and Glenn were also making their way towards the commotion, everybody else trailing behind them.

          Ignoring the argument going on, it was hard not to stop and watch the Rick’s group as they prowled across the ground. As they advanced on the argument, the Alexandrians nearby stopped to watch the scene unfold. They stopped a few feet away from Spencer and Olivia, impulsively forming a loose half-circle formation as Rick strode forward.

         “What’s going on?” Rick asked when he settled to a stop. He straightened up, channeling his inner sheriff. Spencer turned, directing his focus off of Olivia. She sent Rick an apologetically relieved glance and stepped back.

          “What is _this_?” Spencer pointed at the table indignantly.

          “The tribute.” Rick paused, stewing angrily over the reality of his situation.He choked slightly over the words, “For the…Saviors.”

          Spencer scowled, his brow furrowing deeper, “We’re giving them all of this?”

“Half of our supplies belong to the Saviors.” It was all Rick could manage to reply. He dropped his gaze and clenched his jaw angrily, glaring at the table as if _it_ was Negan. _If looks could kill_. Rick certainly wished they could.

          “It’s the way things are now. The Saviors are in charge.” Rick continued bitterly, dragging his gaze up to meet Spencer’s. Rick worked his mouth a bit, his brow furrowing. Part of him idly wondered if Spencer was aware of the scene he was causing. Alexandrians had formed a crowd— a loose, jumbled crowd, but it was an audience nonetheless.

         It reminded Rick of the crowds that would gather loosely around street fights, keeping their distance but still watching each blow. Standing apart from the crowd was Rick’s family of sorts, hovering behind him in case things went drastically south. Rick felt Michonne’s gaze resting heavily on the back of his head. He turned his head ever so slightly, flicking his fingers behind his back in their unspoken “I’ll handle this’ gesture.

“What? So we’re just going to roll over for them?!” Spencer spewed. He jabbed a finger at Rick, “ ** _You_ ** said we could handle them!”

          Rick bristled, biting back a growl. Spencer….Spencer was right, but he was still pushing the limit. Rick leveled a warning glare at the other man, who noticed and practically _flinched_. But he was only deterred for a few seconds. Spencer was still too far hyped up on the alpha male bullshit he was trying to pull.

          Rick grit his teeth. A few moments earlier, he was sure that the rising anger within him was just his mind trying to seek an outlet for all his self-loathing and hatred aimed at Negan. But now? Rick wasn’t so sure.

          He knew he deserved to be blamed. It was his fault. He deserved to be facing the sharp end of the Alexandrians’ anger. The amount of supplies laid out on the table was far too much. Rick understood Spencer’s anger, and hell, he deserved it, but at the same time it just _grated_ on him somehow. Spencer’s outrage was understandable, but then why did he sound like such a **brat** _?_

         Spencer recollected himself, face twisting up. He strode a few steps forward, flinging his arms outward, “We should fight back. We have the guns, we could take them! Or are **YOU** too scared to—”

          “ _Spencer_.” A familiar voice demanded. All eyes turned to the speaker. Carl had stepped into the circle, his single eye trained on Spencer and a dark shadow across his face—one that wasn’t from the hat on his head. His voice was dangerously quiet. “Back off.”

         Rick’s regarded his son with a small jolt of shock. He twisted to exchange a look with Michonne, then Glenn. A shocked look settled across Spencer’s face, before disappearing in a flash of anger—and embarrassment at being scolded by somebody who, to him, was just a kid.

          “Stay out of this.” Spencer shot back dismissively. He faced Rick once more, drawing himself up. He stalked forward, sizing up to Rick in what was supposedly an intimidating manner. Rick’s glare tracked the man’s movement as he approached. He knew that he’d have to diffuse the situation somehow, make sure nobody started swinging. But all the same, a part of him longed for a punching bag. Rick watched almost detachedly as Spencer quickly got closer, until he was only a foot or so away.

          In a few smooth, long strides, Carl was in between Spencer and Rick, interjecting Spencer’s path. He slid into place with a predatory stillness. Spencer’s gaze fell onto the teen, who simply glared back. Something dangerous glittered in Carl’s eye, but Spencer was not going to let this kid intimidate him.

“I told you to stay out of this!” Spencer barked. He moved to push Carl out of the way, but Carl was by far faster. His hand shot up and grabbed Spencer’s hand in a crushing grip and threw it back at him.

“And you need to **_Back. Off._** ” Carl growled, his voice a low, ominous rumble. Without hesitation, he brought up his hand and shoved Spencer with embarrassing ease. Spencer stumbled back, both off-balance and surprised. He looked at Carl with a startled gaze, only to meet a dark glare. Carl prowled forward, crowding Spencer backwards.

         A hush fell over the street, occasionally broken by quiet murmuring. Eyes flitted from Carl to Spencer to Rick, startled by the intensity of the warning. Below Carl’s voice had been a barely contained, dark rumbling that was impossible to ignore.  It was unexpected to see Carl physically step into his father’s argument, let alone treat somebody so vehemently. The teen was always a bit intense, to be truthful, but this was something else entirely. An infuriated redness replaced the shock plastered across Spencer’s face. His backtracking spluttered to a halt as he finally stood his ground, glowering at Carl.

          “Seriously? Don’t you know whose fault this is?” Spencer spat. He straightened up to look past Carl, channeling his spite at Rick, “ _You_ brought this on us! This is your fault, isn’t it?! And **_now_ ** you’re just going to—”

         Carl reared back and struck him across the face with a powerful fist. Spencer collapsed under the blow, quite literally knocked onto his ass. The fierceness of the punch sent Spencer down and rocking onto his back.

          Everybody watching jumped in surprise. A collective gasp of alarm resonated throughout the street. Carl stood over Spencer with a widened, tight-fisted stance, wordlessly emitting a challenge. Spencer made no sign of getting up from the heap he formed, being that, well, Carl had just clocked the utter hell out of him. Carl cast another thunderous glare down at the man on the ground, before backing off.

Ever since Rick’s group had returned from their disastrous run-in with the Saviors, something about Carl had been...off. Nothing all that alarming, but the Alexandrians who had approached the returning group had noticed Carl’s changed demeanor. And then, a few rumors had to started to fly. Nobody had really heeded the rumors, but now…

It was utterly silent as Carl wheeled towards Rick. His gaze scanned his dad, then Michonne, before glancing over Glenn and everybody else. Seeming to be satisfied with whatever he saw, Carl’s demeanor warmed ever so slightly.

         Then without a single word, he turned and walked away. The events that just took place and the coiled tightness of his shoulders induced the Alexandrians to part for Carl and moved out of his way, Rick’s dumbfounded gaze following him until the crowd closed up behind him. It remained quiet for a few long seconds, as if everybody was paralyzed with shock.

         The spell of stillness was broken when Olivia tentatively said, “Spencer’s not moving.”

          She moved towards Spencer, followed by Rosita, then a few other Alexandrians. A few people inched forwards, not approaching but looking.

          Rosita turned in her kneeling position facing away from Spencer to address those not currently lying in a heap on the ground..

          “He…” Rosita said, sounded a bit astounded, “...he’s knocked out.”

          Rick snapped out of his stunned daze, springing into action. He strode forward and knelt beside Rosita to see that, yes, Spencer was out cold.

          Somebody in the crowd inhaled sharply, “Ooh. Ouch.”

          Heads turned to look at the person, making similar “Are you being serious” faces. Glenn, Michonne, Aaron, and Eugene stepped up next to Rosita and Rick, inspecting the unconscious man before them.

          “I advise that Spencer should be taken to the infirmary just about now. I doubt any serious damage was done, but given the fact that Carl knocked him out, better safe than sorry.” Eugene stated, “At the very least, he will need painkillers and the swelling is not going to be pretty in the slightest. When you bring this incident up to your son is frankly none of my business, but I strongly advise you do so after Spencer here is taken to the infirmary.”

          “Yeah.” Glenn said after a bit of a pause, “What he said.”

 

          And so a few minutes later, they were carrying an unconscious Spencer to the infirmary. Rick felt the stares of the Alexandrians as they passed by. Word traveled quickly, apparently. Or maybe practically all them had been there. Rick didn’t quite remember the minor details of the incident.

         More specifically, Rick was aware of the stares aimed at _him._  Some of them _were_ a resultant of the fact that he was one of the people carrying an unconscious Spencer through the town, but some of the gazes felt knowing. They had been there. He and Spencer had gotten into a (one-sided) yelling match, and then Rick’s son had punched the living daylights out of Spencer for trying to….Rick wasn’t quite sure. He knew Spencer wasn’t going in for a fist fight. Maybe he had just been trying to be intimidating. But Carl....the look on the boy’s face...

          To say Rick was worried about Carl was the understatement of the year. As Olivia ushered them in through the wide open door, Rick’s mind was already whirring towards where Carl could be now and if he had calmed down or not. They promptly set Spencer down on a bed, before heading outside and letting Olivia do whatever needed to be done.

Rick ran a hand down his face, collecting himself. Was Carl _okay_? Where could he be now? While there was chance it wasn’t the case, Rick was sure it had to do with what happened in the clearing. They never got the chance to talk about it, and now this happened. Rick glanced out of the corner of his eye to see a pair of women peering at him from a distance. One them looked over the entire group, as if looking for a specific someone, then turned to the other and began speaking in a hushed voice. Gee. Wonder what they were talking about. A hand on Rick’s arm brought him out of the jumbled mess that was his thoughts. He turned his head to see Michonne.

          “Go. We’ll handle this.” Michonne said, a gentle yet serious expression on her face. Her hand slid down to his, their fingers intertwining. Rick paused, giving himself a second to just _be_ with Michonne.

          “What about you?” Rick asked gruffly. He could tell she desperately wanted to solace Carl.

          “I think he needs a one-on-one talk right now. Find him.”

          Rick pondered the words for a moment, before nodding. He squeezed Michonne’s hand, felt her squeeze back, and stepped back. Rick locked eyes with Glenn, who bobbed his head in a “ _go do it_ ” sort of manner.

          Rick nodded back, before turning and briskly walking away, flooded with a sense of urgency. On impulse, he headed for his house. It was a safe bet, and the first place that came to mind as to were Carl could be. He had to find Carl before Carl did anything reckless, or got into any other fights.

          _Or broke down again_ , a part of Rick’s mind whispered. Slight panic closed in on Rick, until he was somewhere between jogging and all out sprinting.

          Within a few minutes, he was rushing up the steps to his porch and bursting into the house. He breathed heavily for a few moments, glancing around the open area for Carl. When the boy was nowhere in sight, Rick called out Carl’s name.

          “Carl? Carl!” Rick shouted, wondering if the teen was hidden within some room. He waited in silence for a bit, waiting for Carl’s familiar ‘Yeah?’ Getting no response, Rick headed for the stairs. It was unlikely that the teen was up there; he’d have heard Rick shouting from downstairs. But perhaps Carl was avoiding the conversation.

         Upstairs, Rick ducked into Carl’s room, repeating his son’s name. The room was unoccupied, save for Rick himself. Quickly scanning the room, Rick determined that Carl hadn’t come in here recently, giving that everything was still in place.

          Hurrying across the hall, Rick reflexively checked Judith’s room. To his surprise, he was greeted with the sight of his sleeping daughter within her crib.  Hadn’t Carl been strolling her around earlier? Rick slowed down his movements, not wanting to wake Judy. He approached the crib, a familiar surge of affection coursing through him at the sight of the youngest Grimes.

          Carl must’ve dropped her off at home, Rick realized. The half empty milk bottle resting on the nightstand next to Judith’s crib told him that Carl had fed her before he left. Where he had gone, Rick had no clue. Nevertheless,  Rick allowed himself a moment to reach down and softly stroke Judith’s cheek.

         Casting one more glance at his sleeping daughter, Rick retracted his hand and returned to his search of his older child. Rick slipped into the hall, glancing up down the hall. For good measure, he checked in his and Michonne’s room. No Carl. Rick bit on the inside of cheek, the worry rising again. Carl was nowhere in the house, and Rick honestly had no idea on where else Carl could be.

          Restless, Rick stormed back down downstairs and into the living room. He stood there, thinking of places Carl could go. He could be anywhere in Alexandria, really. There must’ve been _somebody_ who had seen where he had gone.

          In a flash, it occurred to Rick that he could just ask somebody. If they’d seen him. Cursing his occasionally—but more than not, lately, Rick thought with a wince— stupid nature, Rick made his way out the door and onto the sidewalk. He glanced both ways, before his eyes locked onto a woman he remembered seeing in the crowd.

          Rick power walked towards the woman whose name he didn't entirely remember (there were a lot of Alexandrians, in his defense), the long strides eating up the ground. She looked up in time to see Rick heading towards her. She already knew what Rick was going to ask.

          “Are you looking for—?”

          “Yeah. I know he was in my house, but I think he left. Did you see which way he went?”

          The woman pointed behind her, “I saw him headed in that direction. I think he went towards the empty houses.”

          Shit. It would take Rick a long time to get through all of the empty house if Carl was in one. Chances were Carl wasn’t actually _in_ one of the empty house, being that they were all locked until somebody decided to move in, but Rick himself had taught Carl how to break into houses.

          He shot a quick thanks at the woman and rushed in the direction of the empty houses, keeping an eye peeled just in case Carl had decided to come back. Rick veered off the main street, knowing that the sight of him running down the sidewalk would raise more than a few questions. Eventually, the first of the empty houses came into view, the door and the windows very much in tact. Rick quickly surveyed the area. Carl wasn’t in sight, but neither was anybody else. Nobody really ever came back here unless they wanted some time to themselves outside of their house. Or, in Rick’s case, were looking for somebody. He knew that nobody would be disturbed by him calling out Carl’s name, so Rick resorted to that.

          “Carl!” Rick shouted.

          No response. Rick huffed and began inspecting the houses. All of the windows of the empty houses in that area were intact, and same went for the doors, but Carl could've picked the locks. Rick darted door-to-door, jiggling the doorknob and repeatedly finding that the house hadn’t been broken into. He moved on, rounded the corner of the sidewalk onto the next street.

          Rick was so fervid in finding his son that he didn’t realize he’d found him until a few seconds later. His head snapped up from the doorknob he was shaking, realizing that _yes, the figure sitting on the grass in the small grove down the street_ **_had_ ** _been Carl_. Rick whirled around and flew down the stairs of the porch he stood on, slowing down into a jog when he nearly crashed onto the ground in his hurry.

          Rick opened his mouth, but the words faltered in his mouth as he got closer. Rick almost felt bad for coming to interrupt Carl’s solitude. A lump of affection lodged itself in his throat at the sight of his son, sitting on the grass in a small groves separated from the houses. A few trees decorated the grassy area behind Carl. He looked heartachingly young, sitting there with the Sheriff's hat in his lap.

          Carl’s head was lowered as he looked down at the Sheriff’s hat. Both of his hands clutched the rim of the hat, fingers running over the fabric compulsively. He sat cross legged a few feet away from a tree, but still within its shade.

          “Hey.” Rick said softly, getting Carlos attention. The teen’s shoulders immediately tensed, hitching up, before visibly relaxing when he looked up to see his dad.

          “Hey.” Carl responded.

          Carl got to his feet, placing the Sheriff’s hat back onto his head with one hand. Rick strode forward, Carl stepping out of the shade of the tree to meet him. Now that Carl was actually in front of him, Rick didn’t know where to start. He stared at the teen for a bit, trying to string together a coherent question.

          “Are you—?”

          “I’m fine.” Carl cut in before Rick could finish the question, sounding rather defensive.

          “Why did you come back here?”

Carl shrugged, “I needed some time alone, I guess.”

Rick made a ‘not sure about that’ face, but let it slide anyway, “What was….” Rick gestured vaguely back to where the table was set up, where Carl punched Spencer, “Why?”

          Carl looked back at him with a determined glint in his eye, “Spencer was out of line. He was picking a fight.” Carl declared firmly.

          “You do realize he doesn’t have the guts to get into an actual fight? He wasn’t going to attack me. Spencer was trying to be intimidating.”

          “You don’t know that. And I told him to back off, didn’t I?” Carl crossed his arms. Rick signed, rubbing at his eye with the palm of his hand.

          “Yeah, you did, but you shouldn’t have _knocked him out_. Do you really think he could’ve done actual damage?”

Carl’s eyebrow, the one unobscured by the bandage, rose in surprise, “I knocked him out?” He said, sounding mildly pleased with himself. Rick was caught between reprimanding him and being amused at Carl’s self-satisfaction.

          “Yes, you did. I get that he was being _aggressive_ , but you can’t go around punching people who don’t agree with you.”

          “Fine, I get it,” Carl acquiesced with a sigh, looking a bit guilty now, “Sorry. I shouldn't have hit him. But he was _threatening_ you.”

           Rick was silent at that. He stared at Carl, who had taken on an apologetic yet stubborn expression, arms still crossed over his chest. The nails of his hands were digging into his arms, to the point it looked almost painful, but Carl didn’t seem to notice. Rick locked on to that for a reason he didn’t quite know. He averted his gaze, preparing for his next question.

          “Carl,” Rick uttered slowly, “did what you did back there have to do with what happened in the clearing?”  

           In an instant, Carl went from slightly relaxed to tautly coiled muscles, a tenseness visibly coursing through him. Unbeknownst to Rick, the mere mention of the incident started slowly cutting away at the shoddy patchwork holding together a chasm within Carl, one filled with anger and desperate protectiveness. A dark expression sank across his face. He uncrossed his arms, instead placing his fists at his sides.

           “No.” Carl hissed, anger creeping into his tone. He set his jaw, shifting backwards, “Of course not.”

          All in all, Carl had played that off as delicately as a bull in a China shop. Rick’s heart sank at the dark shift in Carl’s demeanor. It _did_ have to do with it. Carl snapping wasn’t a one time thing.

          “Carl, we have to talk about it.” Rick said, reaching for Carl’s shoulder. Carl shrugged him off, his glare more high-strung than angry.

          “Talk about what?” Carl sniped defensively.

          “You know what I mean.” Rick admonished. He reached for Carl again, “What happened with Negan, when you attacked him. We both know it was because of what happened with the Clai—”

          “ _No_!” Carl roared, batting Rick’s hand away roughly, “We don’t have to talk about **ANYTHING**.”

          Rick stopped dead in his tracks, stunned by the sudden outburst. His hand froze where it was batted away, frozen in place,before he slowly withdrew back to himself. Carl’s scowl dropped instantly as he took in father’s shocked face. He stepped back again, guilt clearly chewing away at his edges. They both were still, not saying anything until Carl dropped his gaze.

          “We—we don’t _need_ to talk about it. There’s nothing to talk about, okay?” Carl repeated himself, softer but just as defensive. He eyed Rick warily, “I panicked. I thought he was going to hurt you. That was all.”

          Rick’s brow furrowed in worry and he opened his mouth, but Carl beat him to it.

          “Stop _worrying_ about me!” Carl placed his hand on his chest, his voice rising again, “I’m _fine_. Don’t stress over it so much. It’s not going to happen again. Just drop it. There’s nothing to talk about!”

          “Carl, I don’t care if it’s not going to happen again, it already happened. We can’t just _ignore_ it.”

         “ _We’re_ **_not_ ** _talking about this_.” Carl growled, scowling while a deep undertone of finality permeated his words. Without allowing Rick a turn to say anything, Carl turned and stalked away.

          The word ‘ _please_ ’ died on Rick’s lips.

          He stood there, having a bit of an aftershock as Carl stormed away. He followed the teen with his eyes, until Carl ducked inbetween the house and disappearing from sight. Rick remained in place for a few moments. He lowered his head and pinched the skin between his eyebrows, feeling suddenly drained. He sighed, realizing just how complicated this was going to be. Carl didn’t want to talk about it. He _refused_ to talk about it. Rick didn’t think they could manage a serious conversation about how Carl was coping with past trauma if Carl refused to say anything. He could only hope Carl would come around, or at least see how talking would make things a little more okay,

          He decided that standing around wasn’t going to do anybody any good. Ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach, Rick headed back to his house to check on Judy. he didn’t run into any of his group on the way back, which Rick couldn’t decided was a good thing or bad thing. He wanted to figure it out with them, but at the same time he felt suddenly drained, too exhausted to explain how Carl refused to talk about it.

           Rick neared his house, passing the table laden with supplies. He glanced at it, then immediately glanced away. _That_ was for another time. He ignored the persistent stares from a few Alexandrians as he climbed up onto the porch. Unlocking the front door with one hand, he tiredly rubbed at his eye with the other hand. He slipped inside, wondering if Judy was up, when he jumped with cold shock.

          Sitting on the couch closest to the corner in the living room was Carl, holding a giggly, if slightly sluggish, Judith in his arms. Rick just stared, confused. Carl had stormed off, only to come back the house, a place where Rick could easily find him?

          Carl glanced at him, eyeing him warily, but he neither moved away or got closer. If anything, a part of Carl seemed to relax further into the sofa, looking at home in the presence of Judith and his dad. Rick began to say something— he wasn’t sure what yet but it was going to be something—but Carl just shot him another look that practically screamed “we’re not talking about it”. Rick shut his mouth.

          Rick couldn’t help but think of Glenn’s words from earlier.

 

          _“Distant, but close enough to keep an eye on things.”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, remember to give feedback/suggestions/requests! You see anything shitty in here, tell me! COMMENTS ARE A WRITER’S NUTRITION. You want more? Tell ME P L E A S E. But seriously, I really appreciate any sort of feedback I get.
> 
> If you don’t wanna do all that here, check out my tumblr: [angryeet](https://angryeet.tumblr.com/)
> 
> ONE LAST THING- In case things go....wrong...in the midseason premier for s8, I’m planning on writing a fix-it! Yall down for that?
> 
> Until next time! Which will hopefully ACTUALLY be “soon”!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, when I first started writing this fic I hadn't planned on being a GODDAMN ONCE-A-MONTH UPLOADER BUT OH FUCKING WELL I GUESS. Yeaaaaaah sorry about that. Like, reeeaaaalllyy sorry. School's been kicking my ass to the moon and back nowadays. But here: I'm planning on updating once more either during Spring Break or right after. 
> 
> And.....also......I'm aware of what happens in s8ep9. I haven't watched it (probably won't for a long time), but if you don't like spoilers, don't look it up. All I can say is a fix-it is on its way. God fucking dammit, AMC/Gimple. **God. Fucking. Dammit.** There's more I have to say about it, but I haven't even watched it and it hurts to think about so lET'S JUST IGNORE IT.
> 
> Anyway!!  
> Give me feedback, tell me if you see anything wonky. If you like it, leave a kudos. Leave a comment! Tell me how you feel. This chapter was _incredibly_ un-betaed so oOOF.

          Michonne adjusted her hold on Judith, then climbed down the steps to greet Glenn as he approached her house. They met halfway, standing on the sidewalk leading up to their porch.

          “Hey. I was thinking we should head down sometime to—” Glenn suddenly broke off when he noticed that Judith was waving her little fist at him in greeting. His face immediately softened as he helplessly broke out into a smile. Glenn momentarily forgot the purpose of his visit, instead basking in the attention of the small child.

          “Hi, Judy,” Glenn cooed softly, giving Judith a little wave back. Michonne couldn’t help but smile in turn. Even after all this time, Judith still had this effect on people, even if they’d known her since she was born. Glenn couldn’t help it, honestly. Judith was super cute, and Glenn himself had a baby on the way. That thought dragged the smile off Glenn’s face as he _painfully_ remembered the separation between him and Maggie.

          “What?” Michonne asked, watching the smile on Glenn’s face instantly vanish.

          “It’s nothing.” Glenn shook his head, assuaging Michonne’s concern that something horrible had just happened, “I just...I know Maggie is okay, but I want to see her. She’s all the way at Hilltop.”

          “You could go today. Nothing big to be done right now.” Michonne offered, pulling one of her dreadlocks out of Judith’s grabby hand.

          “They probably set up lookouts near Alexandria,” Glenn sighed, shaking his head, “The Saviors can’t know about us and the Hilltop. I know we could just sneak past them somehow, but with what just happened they’re probably on high alert. I could go in a week, but I don’t know if it’d be safe to go even then.”

          “We’ll get you to her.” Michonne stated determinedly. Glenn’s gaze slid past Michonne, and Michonne turned to follow it. She was greeted with the sight of Rick stepping out the house. He made his way down to the sidewalk to join them, holding out a finger when Judith babbled and reached for him.

          “We’ll get you to the Hilltop. It may take a while, but...we’ll get you there.” Rick said seriously. He owed that, and much more, to Glenn and Maggie. Glenn simply nodded. He took a deep breath, and shoved the thoughts aside. He'd come here for a reason, after all.

          “I was thinking we should stop by Rosita’s house. Spencer’s over there right now.”

           Rick blinked.

          “I thought he was going to stay at the infirmary overnight.” Rick said inquisitively, leaning forward.

          “Olivia said it really wasn’t that bad. The only reason she was going to keep him overnight was cause she wanted to see if it got worse, but Rosita offered to keep an eye on him for her.” Glenn shrugged, “And we can’t just let him get knocked out and then not address it.”

          “Fair enough. We’ll talk to him.” Rick admitted, already preparing for how awkward the conversation may end up being. Which could be **_very_**. Rick turned towards Michonne, “You coming?”

          “You two go ahead. I need to feed Judith.” Michonne shook her head no and Rick nodded, before he and Glenn took off. Michonne turned and made her way back up to the porch. Just as she was reaching for the door knob, the door swung open, revealing Carl. If Michonne was anybody else, she may have jumped in surprise. Carl stared at her unwaveringly, then let out a small puff of air.

          “So that’s where you were,” Carl remarked aloud. Michonne stared back at Carl. Had he been looking for her? Carl’s sudden appearance reminded her of how _off_ the boy had been for the last few days. Michonne bit back the words on her tongue, deciding to gauge the teen instead.

          Rick had told her just how unsuccessful the conversation with Carl had gone, from Carl’s defensiveness to him storming off at the mention of what happened in the clearing. Carl bristled whenever Rick so much as _seemed_ like he was going to try and bring it up again. Despite that, Carl wasn’t avoiding Rick. If anything, Carl would seek him—and Michonne and Judith—out every now and then, before floating off to who knows where. As if he was taking stock of them.

          Carl directed his gaze at Judith and smiled at the little girl, who had returned to chewing on Michonne’s dreadlocks, “Hey Judy. You hungry?”

          “I’ll say,” Michonne answered as normally as she could, prying her hair away from Judith, “I was heading in to feed her.”

          Carl nodded, softly patting Judith’s cheek. He missed the measuring gaze Michonne scanned over him as content look settled on his face. He tilted his head up to look at Michonne, opening his mouth to say something. The beginning of a word already was already on its way out when Carl abruptly stopped, his gaze pinpointing on something over Michonne’s shoulder.

         “Where’s Dad going?” Carl asked, eye slowly moving as it followed the retreating figure of his dad down the sidewalk. Michonne blinked, surprised at the sudden question, and without even waiting for Michonne to finish responding, Carl moved to trail after his dad. Michonne shifted so she was halfway in front of him, halting him in his tracks.

          “He and Glenn are going to check on Spencer. Why?” Michonne asked, trying to not let on the fact that she was worried about Carl’s mental state. Judging from what Rick’s attempted consultation with Carl, that would only make the teen defensive and send him scampering away. Carl’s eye narrowed ever so slightly at the answer, a look settling in his eye that Michonne couldn’t quite place.

          “Just wanted to know.” Carl responded casually. He ducked around Michonne with a sense of finality and descended the stairs. Carl strided across the grass towards Rick and Glenn, who had already covered quite some distance of the sidewalk. Michonne stared at the teen as he walked away, trying to figure out what was going on his mind.  

          A hint of apprehensiveness sparked within Michonne, because she knew it wasn’t exactly the best idea to let Carl tag along to see Spencer, especially given how he’d punched the man just yesterday. She placed her hand on the railing and moved to follow Carl, but froze at the sudden tug of her hair. Michonne glanced down at Judith, who was whining softly as she demanded to be fed. Judith tugged on her hair again, the tugging becoming incessant within a few seconds. Michonne gripped the railing tighter and looked down at Judith. She cast one more look at Carl, then sighed and turned towards the door.

           

 

          From where Carl was, he could see his dad and Glenn just fine, and the distance could be crossed in a matter of seconds if need be. With that in mind, Carl slowed down to a casual stride, both for his sake and the sake of gaining attention. But nevertheless, he stayed in rapt focus for a few more minutes, keeping an eye on Rick as he and Glenn were having what looked like a conversation. When it became evident that, as of right now, all that would be happening was just walking, Carl let his mind wander. The distance and the slower pace trickled into a quietude that gave Carl some time to think.

          It was supposed to be safe in Alexandria, _goddamnit_.

          Well, Carl supposed, it was safe compared to anywhere outside. It was safer than the clearing where they had their nightmarish run in with the Saviors. Much safer than anywhere _Negan_ was. But it was supposed to be safe, **period**. He cast another glance at his dad, before sinking back into his thoughts.

          Carl reached up and tipped the Sheriffs hat back a bit, more out habit than anything else. He was seated on the white wooden steps of the patio leading to the backyard, lost in thought and not really _there_. His body was there, yes, but he felt a thousand miles away. Carl glanced up at the early morning sun, then dipped his head back down.

          Carl knew that with Negan—and he still reflexively scowled at the name—nobody was safe. But Alexandria was _their_ zone. _Their_ place. He had relaxed a bit when they had returned to the safety of Alexandria’s walls. Carl had thought that here, at least, his family could be safe. And yet, one of their own had threatened his dad. Carl wondered what Spencer had been upset about it, but it didn’t matter.

          Carl thought about what happened yesterday, when Spencer had squared up to Rick in some attempt to assert his dominance or some stupid shit like that. Without even having to think about it, Carl had stepped in. And then Spencer had to go and complain about their situation. As if he could do a better job. Granted, their situation was pretty shitty, but, oh, Carl had practically _seen red_ when Spencer had gotten all up in Rick’s face. In retrospect, the attempt to be intimidating was kind of laughable, but in the moment Carl had felt something in him _snap_. It hadn’t been some dramatic, earth-breaking shatter; more like an echo of something like that, something oddly familiar.

          He’d walked away after that. He just needed to. But then his dad had found him, and Carl wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing.

           _“You do realize he doesn’t have the guts to get into an actual fight? He wasn’t going to attack me.”_

          His dad’s voice echoed in his mind, gently but firmly scolding him that he’d most likely overreacted. Maybe Dad was right. But it was the “maybe” that snagged on the jagged edges of Carl’s mind and hung there, whispering everything that could happen. How many ways his family could _die_. He shoved his shaking hands into his pockets. Damn it all, he didn’t care that he **_could’ve_ ** been wrong.

          Of all people, his Dad should’ve understood how unpredictable and downright _fucked up_ people could be. Even before Negan, their group had their fair share of clashes with other humans. And with the memory of Negan bashing in Abraham's skull fresh in everyone’s minds, wouldn’t his Dad remember how dangerous people could be? _Did he not_ **_understand_ ** _?_

          Carl ignored the slight tremor that raced down his spine for a split second, instead focusing on the downward spiral of his thoughts. His mind spun even faster, as if it was veering this way and that within his skull. Carl inhaled deeply, briefly closing his eye. It was too much. When had he last felt like this? Oh, the clearing. He quickly shook the thought out of his head. That wasn’t important right now.

          Carl was just….keeping track of things. That’s why he followed his Dad. Just keeping track of what was happening, that’s all. Michonne and Judy were at home, but Dad was out here. Was “here” that dangerous? Yes. Yes, it could be dangerous. He needed to protect them. He _had_ to protect them. So they wouldn’t join Abraham, Beth, Tyreese, Hershel, _Mom_ . A cold sweat broke out over his body. It felt as if his mind itself was bleeding. Carl didn’t know why he suddenly felt this way. Why did he feel like this? Where was he? _Where was Dad?_

The slowly mounting pressure behind his eye disappeared in a sudden flash. Carl blinked away the darkness lingering at the edges of his vision, the woozy feeling trickling out of him. He shook his head, trying to clear it, then glanced up. Somehow, they’d gotten close to Rosita’s house without him realizing it. Shaking off whatever it was that had just happened— it was nothing— Carl hurried forward.

          “You think it’s a little too soon to talk to Spencer?” Rick asked as he and Glenn stood on the sidewalk in front of Rosita’s house.

          “Maybe. But it’s probably better than never acknowledging it. he might develop a grudge.” Glenn said, shrugging a bit at the end. Rick made a speculative face, tilting his head. Glenn turned towards Rick, making a silent “ _you know you gotta_ ” sort of face. Rick signed.

            “Yeah.” Rick nodded, muttering under his breath, “Probably shou—”

          “Are you going to talk to Spencer?” Carl chose that moment to let them know he was there. He already knew the answer, but it was as good a way as any to announce his presence.

          Rick and Glenn whirled around at the sudden sound of Carl’s voice. Rick stared at his son in surprise, mouth hanging slightly open. Carl met his father’s gaze dead-on. Glenn glanced between Rick and Carl, obviously just as, or even more so, startled as Rick.

         “Yeah…” Rick finally said, eyeing Carl suspiciously. Why was his son coming along? Rick couldn’t say that Carl had been _avoiding_ him, but with the way Carl would bristle at the slightest possibility of Rick questioning him, Rick was definitely surprised at his son following him. After all, this was like actively seeking out time to spend together, and that would just give Rick an opportunity to confront Carl again. He didn’t plan on it, given the way it went last time, but it could happen.

          “You’re coming?” Glenn asked incredulously. At Carl’s unceremonious ‘yeah’, Glenn looked even more befuddled, “You…..punched him.”

          “He was looking for a fight.” Carl stated offhandedly, as if the fact that he hit Spencer was some trivial detail. At the look that crossed over Rick and Glenn’s faces—one that meant a guaranteed incoming lecture— Carl added, “And I guess I want to apologize.”

          That seemed to assuage the two adults. Nevertheless, Glenn shot Rick a questioning. Rick imperceptibly shook his head. He didn’t know what was going on in Carl’s head either. He wished he did, but the teen refused to even admit being off kilter. And Rick felt guilty about it, because _goddammit_ he was supposed to be there for Carl. Nonetheless, they still had a job to do. So without further ado the trio made their way up onto Rosita’s porch. Glenn knocked on the door (all the houses had doorbells, but doorbells just felt so….. _before_ ) and then stood back as they waited for Rosita to answer.

          The door swung open to reveal Rosita, “Came to che—?” Rosita broke off suddenly when her eyes landed on Carl. Carl sighed, the Sheriff's hat dipping with his head.

          “Wanted to say sorry to Spencer.” He muttered quickly. Not exactly true, but Rosita didn't know. Carl couldn’t exactly say he trusted Spencer to not let his bruised ego control him.

          “Ah. Well, come in.” Rosita said, stepping aside to let the people on her porch enter the house, “He’s on the couch.”

          Once they were all inside, Rosita directed them to the said couch, which happened to be within a room off the main hall. As they entered the room, Spencer sat up from his position laying down, giving everybody a better look at his face. The right side of Spencer’s face was red and swollen, particularly around his eye. The place of impact was covered in a dark bruise that sparked both a twinge of remorse and boyish pride in Carl. All in all, it wasn’t a grievous injury but Spencer definitely looked like he’d been decked recently. Hard.

          Spencer’s eyes landed first on Rosita, then Rick, then Glenn as they entered the room. He visibly blanched when Carl followed. Carl inwardly sighed. Again. Why was everybody so surprised to see him? With all his excuses on joining them for his want to apologize, Carl figured he might as well do it.

          “Sorry about….that” Carl gestured at the swollen side of Spencer’s face. Because saying ‘ _hey, sorry for knocking the utter shit out of you’_ was a little weird. Spencer visibly regained confidence from the apology. It was as if him not apologizing for his own aggressions was nowhere near the top of his list. Carl felt a little bad about the extent of the injury, but that lessens considerably when he remembered how much of a little shit Spencer was.

          “It wasn’t supposed to get that far,” Rick said in way of apology, “I should’ve heard you out. But it’s….it’s things have to be—” Rick quickly shut down the part of himself that whispered ‘ _for_ _now_ ’—“It just is.”

          Spencer did one of those dismissive scoff-laughs. He was clearly on the path of initiating another argument, one that he’d win by default because he was the injured one. Carl’s blood began to boil. He clenched his fists at his sides.

          Spencer lead back, crossing his arms cockily, “Yeah, well, you—”

          He flicked his gaze around the room, but abruptly choked off when he locked eyes with Carl. The teen was hovering near the back of the group, leaving him unseen to everybody but Spencer. Carl’s single eye was drilling a hole into Spencer’s skull, the deathly gaze just **_daring_ ** Spencer to finish his sentence. Carl’s face lacked any sort of scowl or frown, but somehow, that just made it all the more spine-chilling. It left Spencer briefly wondering how the kid manage to put so much intensity into the gaze of his one ice cold eye.

          “—you’re forgiven.” Spencer swallowed dryly and promptly switched tracks, trying to ignore how cold the room suddenly felt. He flicked his gaze back towards Rick, “It’s fine. I overreacted.”

          A brief surprise silence permeated the room, before Glenn and Rosita shrugged off it off. They figured Spencer’s sudden change in demeanor and the way he stuttered easily enough was just him changing his mind. It didn’t go over Rick’s head though, and while Glenn carried on the conversation by asking how bad the swelling was, Rick mentally backtracked over what just happened. Spencer had stopped talking as soon as he looked past Rick. Rick twisted, following past-Spencer’s gaze until his eyes locked on Carl.

           _Oh._ Rick froze, narrowing his eyes. At the moment, Carl wasn’t doing all that much. He stood near the back of the group, out of sight of everybody except Spencer. Carl’s expression was more or less in its neutral default, but Rick couldn’t help but wonder if Carl had silently intimidated Spencer into compliance. In different circumstances, Rick most likely would’ve just asked Carl to be a bit nicer. But with whatever was going on with Carl nowadays, Rick was, once again, concerned.

          Carl finally noticed the weight of his dad’s gaze on him. He met Rick’s gaze and raised his eyebrows. Rick just turned back to Spencer, focusing on the conversation. Rick hoped he could get Carl to open up to him, but that’d most likely take some time.

          “Well, we’ll get out of your hair now.” Rick said, preparing to make his leave, “You should out some ice on that.”

          “Huh?” Spencer placed a tentative hand on his injury, “Oh, yeah.”

          Rosita smiled, shaking her head at how Spencer somehow managed to forget the fact that half his face was kind of swollen, as Glenn snorted in amusement. Despite himself, a small smile spread across Rick’s face. His people were genuinely happy, even if it was just for a bit.

          They filed out after that, Rosita seeing them to the door. It was unnecessary, rally, but old habits died hard, even _years_ into the apocalypse. Rick fell back a step so that he was walking alongside Carl. He’d half expected Carl to tense up the second he did that, or maybe slow down so that he’d stay in the back of the group, but Carl didn’t do any of that. Carl did none of that. Instead, he glanced at Rick from the corner of his eye (Rule of thumb when it came to walking alongside Carl: Try to stay on the side with the eye), and said nothing.

          “That could’ve gone worse,” Glenn said when the door behind them closed, “Didn’t think Spencer would handle being punched in the face so well.”

          “Fair enough.” Rick acquiesced.

          “I was worried he might’ve tried to start shit again.” Glenn sighed as he went down the steps in a single fluid motion. Carl stiffened, twitching angrily. His jaw tightened, then slowly loosened a few seconds later when Carl exhaled deeply.

          “Maybe.” Carl jumped into the conversation kind of suddenly, “But I guess he knew better.”

          Rick shot Carl a furtive glance.

          “Rosita probably talked to him,” Glenn responded, “Calmed him down a bit.”

          Rick nodded, because in hindsight Glenn was most likely right. Rosita had for sure played a part in Spencers’ general civility when they showed up.

          “You’re probably right,” Carl remarked, sounding like he too was considering the plausibility of Glenn’s suggestion.

          “Not sure how official they are, but it’s a good thing Spencer has Rosita.” Glenn said, and then suddenly his eyes were sad. A little distant. Disquiet decorated the rims of his eyes. In that moment, it was obvious how much the Glenn was worried about Maggie. The need to protect within Carl expanded in an instant.

          “Hey,” Carl uttered softly but firmly, “Maggie’s tough. You’ll see her sometime soon, Glenn.”

          Glenn blinked in muted surprise, before a tired smile, but a smile nonetheless, graced his face.

          “Yeah. I will.”

          Glenn departed for his house a few minutes later, declaring his need to take a shower. With Glenn gone, Rick focused all of his attention on his son, who either didn’t notice or _refused_ to acknowledge it. Rick had a feeling it was the latter. On a whim the two started walking home. Bit by bit Carl wore down until he eventually acknowledged his dad’s laden gaze.

          Carl turned his head, taking in Rick’s narrowed eyes and furrowed yet slightly quirked eyebrows: the universal “ _I’m trying to figure this out but what the fuck_ ” face.

          “What?” Carl asked flatly. Rick’s eye narrowed a tad, and he gestured over his shoulder vaguely.

          “Back there, with Spencer…” Rick paused, looking as if he was struggling to find the right words, “..did you _threaten_ him?”

          Carl blinked. How the hell did Dad find out? Carl had been standing _behind_ him. It was probably that bafflingly intuitive parental sixth sense. Maybe Dad _actually_ had eyes in the back of his head. Carl was silent for what he knew was too long of a pause before responding.

          “...No.” Carl murmured rather unconvincingly. Rick sighed at the unintentional confirmation. Carl set his jaw defensively.

          “Why—” Was all Rick managed to say before Carl cut him off.

          “We talked about this yesterday, didn’t we?” Carl sniped coolly. He averted his gaze, stubbornly looking straight ahead. He slammed the metaphorical door of the conversation Rick was initiating. Rick promptly stuck a metaphorical foot between said door and its frame, using his parental authority to jam the metaphorical door wide open.

           “I’m talking about _today_ , Carl.” Rick griped authoritatively. He dragged Carl and himself to a stop, forcing Carl into turning towards him. Carl grudgingly met his gaze, but, Rick thought, at least he complied. Carl obviously had put up less of a fight on addressing this front, which was nice change of pace, “I know Spencer was going to blame me, or something like that. He stopped cause of you. You did something. What, did you glare him into submission?”

          Carl opened his mouth to retaliate, but found he lacked any sort of response. On further reflection, his dad was right. He had threatened Spencer by glaring at him. So yes, Carl supposed he _had_ glared Spencer into submission. This must’ve reflected on his face, because Rick let out a mix between a groan and a sigh. Rick punched the skin between his eyebrows, shifting his weight to his other leg.

          “How do you...” Rick asked in what was obviously a rhetoric question, turning one palm upward, “How do you even _glare_ somebody into submission?”

          Carl scoffed and raised his eyebrows at his dad. Rick simply stared back, unaware of how much of a contradiction he was current being. After a prolonged pause, Carl realized with a jolt that his dad was being dead serious, and for fuck’s sake, wow. Carl had learned how deliver effective death glares from _Rick_. Rick hadn’t exactly taught him upfront, but Carl had seen his dad do it so many times that it had just rubbed off on him. Carl had learned by demonstration, per se. Or maybe it was hereditary. And here Dad was, asking how to do something that he _and_ Michonne were so good at. A flicker of amusement hit Carl, because damn, talk about irony. Unable to help himself, Carl let out a little amused huff of air, unaware of the smile trying to fight its way onto his face.

          “Are you serious?” Carl‘s eyebrows rose even higher as his voice unconsciously switched into something more light, “I learned how to ‘glare people into submission’ from _you_. You do it all the time.”

          Rick blinked in surprise, taken aback by being called out like that out of nowhere. In a instant, he realized two things. One, Carl was right. Rick had stared down a **lot** of people in his time. And two, Carl had just...teased him? Another bolt of surprise ran through him. Rick took a closer look at his son, trying to read his mood. Everything came spinning to a halt as he took in the faint upward curve of Carl’s mouth.

          Carl was smiling.

          Rick’s mouth fell open before he realized it. Seeing Carl’s smile after everything that happened over the last few days was just…he didn’t think he’d see it anytime soon. And it was so sudden. Shock faded into a spark of warmth that started in Rick’s chest and rapidly spread throughout his body, filling him with a feeling of lightness. It occurred to him that yeah, maybe what he had said was just a _tad_ ironic. Before Rick knew it, he was smiling back.

          “Well, I guess I’m proud then.” He drawled. Rick rubbed at his cheek, letting out a short little chuckle as he reflected over something he hadn't even noticed about himself. And he couldn’t help it, Carl’s smile was contagious. Speaking of Carl, the teen’s eye had lit up like a Christmas Tree. Carl’s faint smiled blossomed into a full fledge grin.

          “Proud, huh?” Carl echoed, feeling lighter than he’d felt in weeks. Happiness bubbled in his throat, not just from Rick’s words but from the fact that his dad was smiling back at him. It was the first rays of warm sunlight after a long, long winter. Everything just became _brighter_.

          The happiness on Carl’s face instantly tugged at Rick’s heartstrings. He felt bad for wanting to push the conversation. Carl needed to talk about it, but there was no way in hell Rick was going to wipe the smile of his son’s face. He wanted to forget everything, just for a little bit, if his son would be this happy. Affection, strong and bright, briefly stole his voice.

          “Nice to know I taught you _something_.” Rick reached up to snatch the Sheriff’s hat off Carl’s head and ruffled the teen’s hair. Carl squawked a “Hey!” and grabbed his hat back with a jokingly indignant huff, prompting a soft chuckle from Rick.

          And so they walked home, forgetting, if just for a little while, everything else.

 

         The little pocket of happiness made it better, for a bit. The memory was something precious, something Carl slotted away into his mind alongside the memories of Judith giggling and him and Michonne balancing on train tracks. But when he woke up the next morning, it all came crashing back down on him.

          Carl lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, as the familiar feeling of something clawing at his heart started back up again. Because he was scared yesterday may have been the last day he’d see his dad smile. Something just felt _off_ . Carl didn’t know why, but he felt like something was going to happen. Something big. What if it was something _worse_? Something worse than what happened a few nights ago, in a dark, blood splattered clearing. In a different dark, moonlight clearing with taunting laughter and anger and crying and—Carl sat upright, chest heaving.       

          “Fuck.” Carl muttered softly, rubbing his eye with the heel of his palm. He blinked away the dredges of sleep, before giving in to the nagging urge to check on Judith. He’d check on his little sister, then hit the bathroom. Carl slid out of bed, using the momentum to carry himself to the door. He blearily stumbled out into the hall, and was halfway to Judith’s room when he caught sight of Michonne. They both froze, staring at the other in surprise, and a few seconds later Carl spotted in the rifle in her grip. Before he could stop himself, Carl rushed forward, questions already pouring out of him.

          “What happened? Where are you going? Why do you have a rifle?” Carl managed to ask within the span of one second. Michonne stepped back, physically taken aback by the barrage of questions. She raised one hand in a placating gesture, though she was a little wide-eyed herself. 

          “Nothing happened,” Michonne said, shutting down the Carl’s torrent of words. Carl breathed a sigh of relief, momentarily content. But then his eye narrowed and he restated another question with a hint of concerned suspicion.

          “Where are you going?”

          “Nowhere.” Michonne said, which was an obvious lie. She shifted slightly, “I’m going out, Carl.”

          “Why do you have a rifle?” Carl asked again in his continued interrogation. Michonne opened her mouth, took in Carl’s ‘no bullshit’ look, and sighed. She’d taught him too well. Michonne threw her free hand up in frustration.

          “I’m going outside of Alexandria, Carl. I…I want to practice with the rifle. Get some air.”

          Carl’s eye widened. No, no, she couldn’t leave! He _knew_ something was going to happen. Michonne was more than adept at handling herself, Carl knew that, but alarms were ringing so loudly in his head he just couldn’t overlook it. In an instant his entire frame tightened with tension. The panic rang loud and clear on Carl’s face, and Michonne considered bringing up _that_ conversation now. But she decided to not push it, at least, not now. Instead, she settled for defusing the ticking time bombs in front of her.

          “You can’t—!”

          Michonne placed a hand on Carl’s shoulder, soothing and _familiar_. She looked the teen in the eye as gently and purposefully as she could, moving her hand to the side of his face. Carl lowered the hand he’d reflexively brought up, his frame unwinding slowly. The blue of Carl’s eye stared back at her, big and full of emotion. Michonne offered him a tender smile.

         “I know you’re worried. But please, I _need_ to. I don’t truly know what’s going on with you, and you may not tell me, but it’s going to be fine. I know how to handle myself.”

          Carl’s shoulders sank as he exhaled deeply, “I know...just...come back safe, okay?”

          Michonne smiled. Carl stepped aside, granting her room for passage. Michonne padded silently down the hall, Carl watching after her. She disappeared down the stairs, and a few minutes later Carl heard the front door close. He closed his eye, wallowing in his thoughts. He didn't want her to leave, but Michonne was more than capable to seeing to herself. Maybe whatever his gut was telling him meant that something bad would happen in _Alexandria_ . Perhaps Michonne would be safer on the outside. Maybe that's why he found it in him to let her go. But then, what about _Dad and Judith_? Carl's breath caught. If something would happen in Alexandria, Michonne would be safe, but Dad and Judith were still here.

           Carl stood there as the seconds ticked by, somehow ironically paralyzed by his need to **move**. His thoughts played over and over on a loop, keeping him frozen to his spot. Gritting his teeth, Carl forced his body into action. He turned on his heel and marched towards Judith’s room with strengthened resolve. He had a job to do, after all.

 

          Rick watched as the car drove slowly up to the gate.  Rosita and Spencer were going on a run, despite Olivia’s protests at Spencer going out in his condition. The swelling wasn’t all that hindering, but still believed it could get in the way. The car came to a stop at the gate, next to Eugene. The car stayed there for a bit, and Rick began to wonder what the hold up was. His surprise rocketed upwards when Rosita and Spencer got out of the car. As the sudden sound of engines—those that weren’t from their own— drew louder, Rick strode across the road, heading towards Rosita and Eugene to figure out what was happening.

          He partially hoped that maybe Michonne was back, and she had found a car, but he doubted that a find like that would come by so easily. Then again, finds like that were mostly just luck nowadays.

          “Who is that?” Carl inquired, startling Rick with how he’d just appeared out of nowhere. Rick whipped his head around to eye his son.

          “Not sure. Stay back, Carl.” Rick ordered; he knew Carl wouldn’t stay behind, but at the very least he could stay back. They both knew that Rick’s orders were just as much parental protectiveness as well tactical defense. Rick turned around and continued towards the gate,eyeing it with a growing sense of dread as a silhouette sauntered up to it. Whoever it was banged something against the gate three times, resulting in an echoing sound of the metal sent a inexplicable shiver down Rick’s spine.

          “Little pig, little pig! Let me _in!_ ” A familiar voice drawled tauntingly from behind the gate. And then everything came crashing down on Rick.           

          Carl followed after Rick, ten or fifteen feet behind him; too far to hear much of anything. He came to a halt when Rick froze, watching with unshakeable apprehension as his father’s frame began to shake with palpable anger, the fists at his sides drawn tight. As quickly as it started, it stopped, and Rick’s body went stock-still. Rick resumed walking to the gate as Spencer began to draw back the metal sheet, but everything about him screamed that something was _wrong_. Carl shifted restlessly but decided to stay where he was for the time being.

          It didn’t matter anyway, because as soon as the gate cover was drawn back, Carl couldn’t even move.

           **_Negan_**.

          Carl’s blood boiled and froze all at the same time and al he could think of was the feeling of standing in a bonfire, drowning in an icy lake.

          Rick quickly walked into Negan’s view, eyes trained on the other man and made sure that Negan focused on him. Not Rosita, not Spencer, not Eugene. Not any of his people. Just _him_. Rick’s eyes were filled to the brim with perceptible rage, but this only served to amuse Negan. A shit-eating grin spread across Negan’s face as Rick silently stormed closer, but stopped a few feet away from the gate, as if there was some barrier he couldn't cross.

          “Well, hello there.” Negan jibed in greeting. Well, if the anger in ol’ Ricky’s eyes wasn’t something fierce! It was kind of funny though, so Negan let it slide. You know what he wouldn’t let slide? Him having to stand around waiting for one of those poor fuckers to open the damn gate. After a few seconds of neither party moving, grew exasperated. Negan consciously hardened his gaze, letting his annoyance seep into his voice, “Do _not_ make me have to ask.”

          Negan looked pointedly at Rick. Rick, looking for all the world like somebody had just shit in his cereal, moved to the gate.

          “You said a week.” Rick groused, voice gravelly, “You’re early.

          Nevertheless, Rick wrenched the gate open with a grimace that stemmed more from anger than exertion. Negan chuckled, flashing another teasing grin.

          “I missed you.” Negan punctuated his taunt with a slight tilt of his head. He took liberty in sliding his gaze over the people standing behind Rick. There was the new guy (who hadn’t even fucking _recognized_ him, the prick), the feisty looking Latina (Rosita, or something like that), and then the guy with the fucking **_mullet._**

          A walker growled from somewhere behind him, and Negan smiled. Maybe he could put on a little show for Rick, show him that the Saviors would be giving them the oh so wonderful service of killing nearby walkers. Just as he was about to turn and do just that, another figure, this one more distant, caught Negan's eye. Negan flicked a hand towards one of the lackeys behind him, giving them the silent order to take care of the walker. He’d save the theatrics for later.

          Instead, Negan scrutinized the distant figure. Standing in the middle of the road was the _kid_. Carl. While Rick was at least trying to stem the anger raging out of his eyes, Carl’s gaze was like a tunneled maelstrom of an unrestrained mix of shock and rage. Like a few days earlier, the kid's hands were quaking, adding to the vicious scowl edging on a snarl plastered across his face. Just as Negan was sure the kid was about to sprint towards him screaming bloody-murder, the Asian (also from the clearing) swiftly walked up to Carl. In a few seconds he was quickly shepherding him away, pulling Carl along even as the kid kept his gaze locked on the Saviors.

          Negan’s eyebrows rose.

          “Huh.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YALL KNOW THE DRILL. Feedback, Comments, Kudos! And I'm dead serious when I say that YOUR!!! COMMENTS!!! GIVE!!! ME!! LIFE!!!!
> 
> Quick question- Do you guys prefer longer chapters with less frequent updates (the way I do it now) OR shorter chapters with more frequent updates?
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	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Do people _really_ make actual online friends?  
>  Also me, the minute anybody comments something remotely nice: **I!!LOVE!!!YOU!!!**
> 
> Seriously though, to the people who constantly comment on this, you are basically the reason I get out of bed in the morning. Just know that whenever I read your comments, I feel like [this](https://data.whicdn.com/images/293592659/superthumb.jpg). I'm so thankful for all you!
> 
> Anyway, hey guys! I wanted to give you a sample of what shorter-but-more-frequent updates is like, so here you go. Not sure if I can do it though, given how crazy the end of the school year gets, but if I do, the updates will be once every two weeks? Once a week? I’m also not used to writing shorter chapters but I’ll try!!!
> 
> ONE LAST THING BEFORE I LET YOU READ THE DAMN THING— I have an idea for a fix-it for season 8 of TWD (you know what I’m fixing), but I need some help developing it more. It’d help if I could talk it out with somebody, or maybe even get some ideas in turn! So if anybody is curious or really wants a fix-it, just let me know in the comments and help me brainstorm!
> 
> Well, that’s all. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

          Carl stumbled over his feet as he struggled to catch up with what was happening. Glenn managed to keep him upright with the hand he had on Carl’s shoulder, pushing him along as quickly yet as gently as he could. By the time Carl seemed to realize he was being led away, they were already off the main road and onto some side street. After a few failed attempts, Carl staggered to a stop, ducking away with a flail. He whirled on Glenn, trying to get out a coherent thought, but every part of him felt like it was overheating. Carl’s eye was distant, wild, but he slowly came back down a few seconds later. Just as he was about to voice his protest, he faltered,  once breaking off as quickly as it had started. Carl’s gaze slid to something past Glenn’s shoulder.

          Glenn followed Carl’s gaze, only to see that there were other people currently out in the street. He stiffened, only to relax a moment later when he noticed that their attention wasn’t on the scene he and Carl had made. Nevertheless, many of them looked confused and rather unsure, and Glenn belatedly realized that they must’ve heard the trucks at the gate. The Saviors hadn’t exactly made a discreet entrance, and Negan slamming his bat against the gate had been alarmingly loud.

          Upon noticing that Glenn and Carl were there as well, many of the Alexandrians turned to them for answers.

          “What’s happening? We heard something hitting the gates.” One man asked, looking concerned and a little wary. It occurred to Glenn that telling them now would be much better than leaving the Alexandrians to go find out who had shown up at their door. The less people around Negan, the better. Glenn waited until a majority of them had gathered around, and once all eyes were on him he responded to the man’s question.

          “The Saviors are here.” Glenn quickly took stock of the stricken expressions of the people before him. He ignored the shocked gasps/whispers and carried on with a deep breath, “We don’t know how this is going to go, but stay inside. Try to avoid them as much as you can. And whatever you do, stay _away_ from the man with the baseball bat.”

          “Who?”

          “Negan. You’ll know him when you see him.” Glenn remarked grimly, “All of you, get inside before they come here too.”

          As soon the Alexandrians dispersed to hide out in their houses, Carl jumped back into his own body and finally got out a few words.

          “Why would you—we can’t just—!” Carl tried to demand, spluttering as he struggled to voice the whirlwind of his thoughts. He blinked rapidly, shaking his head in attempt to clear it, “We can’t just leave my dad to deal with Negan by himself!”

          Glenn quickly crossed the distance between them as Carl internally combusted. He gripped Carl’s shoulders, making the teen look him in the eyes.

          “Carl, look, I need you to _focus_. We’re not going to leave your dad, but you can’t go charging in there!”

          “I wasn’t going to—!”

          “You looked like you were about to start shooting. You were _shaking_. And, look…” Glenn slowly let go of Carl, hoping the teen wouldn’t suddenly run off. Glenn sighed, “...I can’t pretend to fully understand what happened with you, in the clearing, or even now. But Carl, I need you to think this through. Negan let you off easy the first time. But we don’t know what’ll happen if you attack him again. I know you want to. I sure as hell want to. But it’s completely, totally reckless, Carl.”

          Carl was briefly silent, stewing in frustration and a tangled web of distress.

          “What about my dad?” Carl hissed lowly, eye narrowing, “We can’t just leave him to handle all of this by himself.”

          “I’m not sure Rick dealing with Negan all by himself, but I’m pretty sure he wants to do it like that. To be fair, Rick thinks it’d be the best way to go about this.” Glenn admitted. At the dismayed look on Carl’s face, Glenn quickly added on,“I get it, you’re worried. But we have to keep Negan’s attention away from everybody else. Who knows what he’ll do? There’s nothing we can do about how dangerous being around Negan is.”

           “Then we have to keep an eye on them, at least!” Carl argued pushingly. It was clear that changing Carl’s mind would take much too long (and probably attract unwanted attention). Glenn paused, thinking of a way to reach a compromise, or at least get Carl to hear him out. He had to keep things cool, or else this could easily lead into reenactment of what happened in the clearing.

          “I’ll keep an eye on them, but _you_ need to stay away.” Glenn immediately put up a hand to deter Carl’s animated response, “The second Negan gets in range, you’re going to attack him. You might not be planning on it, but if you could’ve seen yourself five minutes ago….”

          Glenn shook his head, “You need to stay away from Negan as much as you can. Keep watch over Judith. She needs it. I’ll keep an eye on Rick, okay?”

           Carl’s internal war waged clearly on his face. Obviously, staying away was the best option. On the other hand, a very large, very _loud_ part of him screamed from the depths of his mind that he’d be leaving his dad to the vultures. He wanted to sprint out there, guns blazing. But, Carl mused bitterly, that really would make everything worse, so he’d just have to ignore himself. With obvious reluctance, Carl nodded in grudging agreement.

          Glenn stepped back, letting out a sigh of relief. At least that was one crisis averted, even if it was just for now, “Alright. I’ll catch up to them. **_You_** go home.”

          Carl glowered, but complied all the same. Glenn caught the sound of Carl grumbling under his breath before the teen was out of earshot, storming off in the direction of his house.Glenn watched with a concerned frown hoping the teen wouldn’t get himself or anybody else in trouble. In all honesty, the angry, illogical part of Glenn wanted Carl to attack Negan. Hell, _he_ wanted to attack Negan. But Rick had been right. As of now, there was nothing they could do about their situation. They’d need time to reorganize and get more support before they could fight back against the Saviors-- if Rick ever came back around to that. Glenn jumped, startled out of his thoughts when Gabriel glided up to him. He ignored the fact that he nearly had a heart attack and faced the priest.

          “I was looking for you.” Gabriel announced. At Glenn’s inquisitive look, he elaborated, “It’s about Maggie.”

          “What? Did you hear anything?” Glenn asked quickly. Perhaps Gabriel had somehow gotten news from the Hilltop. Gabriel shook his head, diminishing the look of slight hope on Glenn’s face with a mildly guilty look.

          “No. We know Maggie is at the Hilltop, but Negan doesn’t. Negan may ask about her.  I believe it’s best if we keep our alliance with the Hilltop a secret from the Saviors. So in that case, we’ll tell him she’s dead.”

          A shiver automatically ran through Glenn at the statement. Maggie _wasn’t_ dead, he knew that, but even the idea of it made him feel ice cold. He couldn’t help it; the very possibility was something he didn’t want to entertain. But Gabriel’s idea was a smart one: It’d keep Negan away from Maggie _and_ hide the fact that they were allied with the Hilltop.

         “You want me to act like it.” Glenn said as he realized why Gabriel had come to tell him, “We need to convince them that she’s dead”.

          “Yes.” Gabriel nodded in confirmation, “That, and I wanted you to know so you wouldn’t get caught off guard.”

          Glenn was about to ask Gabriel if Rick knew, when a sudden thought occurred to him. If he was supposed to be mourning Maggie, why would go anywhere near Negan? That itself would raise questions on whether or not Maggie was actually “dead”. Glenn paused, working through his little dilemma. He came to the conclusion that he’d have to watch from afar.

          “I heard part of your conversation with Carl,” Gabriel admitted. To be fair, they had been slightly loud. Glenn simply sighed, shrugging in response, “Are you still going with Rick?”

          “Yeah, I’m going to follow them. I mean, I told Carl I would. And if he finds out I’m not he may charge in there himself. There isn’t much I could actually do….but Rick might appreciate the backup.”

          Gabriel made a faint humming noise. Glenn had a feeling Gabriel had more to say, so he just waited. They stood together for a few moments in silence, listening to the engines of the trucks die down. After a while, Gabriel broke the silence by simply heaving a sigh (something that a lot of people had been doing often nowadays). He stared off in the direction Carl had gone.

          “I worry for him.” Gabriel said softly, before switching his focus to Glenn, “ But I’m afraid that’s a conversation for a different time. You have somewhere to be.”

          “Yeah.” Glenn nodded, “Thanks for the heads up.”

          With that, he strided away towards the main road. Reflecting on what just happened, Glenn couldn’t help but think that Gabriel had picked the right time to start working with them. And with Gabriel being a priest and all—he assumed they were good at listening to people, with the whole confessions thing—maybe he could get Carl to open up.

          Why was everything so _complicated_ _?_      

 

          

          The weight of the bat felt like it was burning his palm. The skin of his hand crawled just from holding it, the weapon that had _killed Abraham_ . And it was only amplified a hundredfold by the presence of the man who wielded the bat. Rick trekked along wearily behind Negan, wishing with every bone of his body that things had gone differently, that his choices hadn’t led his people to this point in time.His distance behind Negan wasn’t of respect-- far from it. He _needed_ to stay away from the other man, it was a biological response at that point, and it was crystal clear. That, and Rick just didn’t have any remaining energy. He felt a bitter sense of gratefulness that it didn’t piss of Negan in some way. Rick trained his eyes on the back of Negan’s jacket, secretly hoping that maybe he could actually burn a hole through it by just glaring.

          To his right was Daryl. Daryl, who looked like the Saviors had gone through all sorts of lengths to try and beat the fight out of him, and Rick didn’t know if they had. Afterall, he wasn’t even allowed to _look_ at Daryl, let alone speak to him; he could if he wanted to, but the consequences were too dire. But judging from what he’d seen before Negan had laid down his stupid fucking rule, it looked like the flame had been stomped out.

          “You see this?” Negan declared with an ear-grating mix of cheer and casualness. Rick slipped back into the present then, because as much as he loathed hearing Negan speak, he didn’t want to get caught off guard, “This is the kind of thing that just tickles my balls.”

           Rick turned his head slightly to numbly take in the sight of two Saviors carrying a chair out of one of the houses. _What they even need it for?_

          “A little cooperation, and everything is pleasant as _punch_ _!_  You see, we really are reasonable people once you get to know us.” Negan proclaimed, sauntering past the two Saviors. He cast a look back at Rick, taking in the vexed look on his face. Negan grinned and turned his attention to a green-grey cooler resting on the grass, “Honest.”

          Reasonable? His people were taking a flowery sofa chair out of somebody’s house for the sole purpose of taking.

          Negan reached down and opened the cooler, smiling in delight at his find of some sort of soda, “Ohhh. Man.” He whispered at the find, half to himself and half just for show. Negan popped open the tab, swinging back around to continue on his little promenade through Alexandria, and promptly chugged the soda down. Once finished, Negan let out a little refreshed “ahh!” and tossed the can aside carelessly. It wasn't too environmentally-friendly, he knew that. But hey, there weren’t enough people around to _really_ fuck up the environment anymore, so what would one can do?

          “Damn, I love this place!” Negan announced with a grin. Rick fumed silently, gritting his teeth so hard he was sure he probably chipped a few. He was stuck in an endless limbo of feeling numb, lost, and practically crackling with rage. How much more of this would he have to endure? How much more of this _could_ he endure?

          A new blur of color caught Rick’s eye. He turned his head marginally, and caught sight of Glenn. To Rick’s slight surprise, Glenn was lingering at the edge of their little procession, flanking Rick and Negan from afar. Despite the distance, Rick felt a little grateful for the silent companionship. There wasn’t much Glenn could do by himself, but it helped with keeping his head cool. When their eyes met, Rick couldn’t help but feel like Glenn looked like he wanted to tell Rick something, but couldn’t. In hindsight, it’d be impossible to tell Rick something privately if Negan was around. Glenn’s gaze then slid to Daryl, and rage burst on his features at the site of their friend reduced to that.  He quickly ducked out of view, much to Rick’s confusion. A second later, he realized Negan had been trying to get his attention. Rick grudgingly returned to his gaze to meet Negan’s, his eyes shooting daggers—scratch that, _axes_ —at Negan.

          “Careful. Careful how you’re looking at me, Rick.” Negan warned lowly, reaching a startling level of oddly quiet intensity. Rick dialed it back, and in a second Negan had reverted back to his obnoxious-showman self, with dizzying speed. “Were you even listening? You weren’t, were you. I’ll repeat myself this time, Rick. Where’s the sick girl? You know, the asian’s boo?”

          Maggie. Negan was asking about Maggie. _Shit_. He couldn’t know about their connection with the Hilltop. Rick had enough time to acknowledge that he stupidly hadn’t thought so far ahead as to cover this when somebody else fortunately beat him to it.

          “Do you care to say your respects?” Gabriel’s voice asked suddenly, startling basically everybody. The priest had made a rather sudden entrance, especially given that nobody had noticed him approaching.

          Negan whirled around in genuine surprise, exclaiming, “ _Ho—ly_ **crap**!” He took in the new arrival, first noting how he hadn’t seen the man before and then secondly noticing that the man looked hella fucking _creepy_ , standing there with some weird smile. Negan dramatically pointed a finger at Gabriel, “ _You_ are creepy as shit, sneaking up on me, wearing that collar with freaky-ass smile.”

          Rick hated how he would’ve actually laughed at that in a different situation. Gabriel made a slight face, one that was unreadable yet made it obvious that Negan’s reaction had been…...unexpected.

          “My apologies.” Gabriel said after a bit of a pause, somehow still sounding amiable, “I’m Father Gabriel.”   

          Negan huffed in amusement. With Gabriel’s sudden appearance and his freaky-ass smile, the guy was practically horror movie material. A second later, Gabriel’s words sunk in. Negan then turned to Rick, looking actually kind of troubled at the news of Maggie’s “death”. Rick wondered if Negan genuinely even gave a damn on whether or not any of them lived. A bit hypocritical, really. Rick knew he wasn’t exactly innocent himself, but at least he wasn’t like _this_.

          “She didn’t make it?”

 

          A few minutes later, they were walking away from Maggie’s so called “grave”. Rick shot Gabriel a quick thankful look, glad that _somebody_ had the sense to think ahead to this exact scenario. Gabriel simply offered a slight smile, before they split and headed in separate directions. Rick was expected to “show Negan around”, after all, and Gabriel wasn’t part of the entourage. Negan sauntered on ahead, looking around and constantly keeping up a running commentary. Did the man _ever_ shut the hell up? Rick supposed the answer was no; afterall, it seemed to be physically impossible for Negan to be quiet.

           Negan tossed a glance back over his shoulder at Rick. From what he could see, it was just them (and Daryl, but who gave a fuck?). His people had stopped by some poor fucker’s lawn, crowded around something in a way that made Negan a little curious himself. But he ignored it in favor of continuing his stroll to put some distance between them and himself. You see, he had a little something in mind that he wanted to talk to Rick about. Something he’d been thinking about for a while, but hadn’t really had any time to mention it, with the whole “touring the new place” while being shadowed by his people thing. Negan knew Rick would want some privacy when it came to talking about “it”. Not that Rick had a say in the matter, but Negan _was_ a reasonable man.

          And, well, it was serious.

          Negan came to a stop, cutting off the theatrical ogling of Alexandria. He turned on his heel until he was facing Rick. Without much pause, he strolled up to Rick, casually getting into the man’s personal space. Admittedly, Rick handled it surprisingly well. Except or, of course, the glaring, not to mention the outright suspicion on his face. This didn’t get past Negan, who stepped back slightly, deciding that Rick would be more open to conversation if he was less on edge. Or if he’d stop being such a prick. A minute or two of dead silence passed until Negan finally broke it.

          “There’s been something bugging me, Rick.” Negan murmured lowly, looking at Rick with a contemplative stare. Rick staredly back disgruntledly, pondering where the hell this could be going. “I’ve been wondering….How’s your kid doing?”

          Rick stiffened, his eyes widening. What the hell did Negan want to know about Carl? His set his jaw as trepidation and anger coursed through him, plugging him with energy he didn’t know he had left. He tried not let himself be visibly rattled by the mention of his son, but all Rick could think was if perhaps Negan had changed his mind. That Negan, the fucking psycho, had decided that he’d let Carl off the hook too easily.

          “Why are you asking?” Rick hissed, hackles rising. Negan snorted, raising his eyebrows with an offended look.

          “Why? I’m worried about the kid, that’s why. I’m not seeking _revenge_ or some petty bullshit like that. But seriously,” Negan lowered his voice in seriousness, leaning in once more, “How’s your kid doing? I _know_ something was up with him.”

          “What would you know?” Rick growled, baring his teeth. He clenched his free hand into a fist as his grip on Lucille twitched. Within seconds he had entered a free-for-all staring contest with Negan, one neither of them seemed ready to back down from.

          “I know your kid thought I was gonna rape you.” Negan shot back bluntly. Rick, despite himself, flinched. Negan would’ve counted it as a victory if the topic hadn’t been so damn serious, “I know your kid fucking lost it.”

          Negan paused, waiting for a response. When it became obvious Rick wasn’t going to give him one, he grumbled but carried on anyhow.

          “And we talked about this: Rape is _not_ condoned by any means in the Saviors. But does your kid know? Is he still losing his shit about that? Because, goddamn, do you remember what Carl was like back then?” Negan whistled for effect, partially to make a point and partially because the kid had actually kinda scared the crap out of him then, “He was a fucking animal. I mean, like, actually crazy. That couldn’t have been normal. You told me he was almost raped, but do you know what’s going on his head now? Have you two even _talked_ about it?”

          Rick froze, eyes widening again, though this was obviously not out of anger.   

          There it was. Even _Negan_ was asking him to talk to Carl. Even Negan knew how important getting Carl top open up would be. And dear fucking god, Rick wanted to talk to Carl. He tried to. But every time he felt like he was getting close, Carl would slam down his walls. Hell, he was probably seconds from running away. The anger erupting within Rick fizzled out at the memory of the wild look on Carl’s face, tumbling into a desolate feeling of being _lost_. He dropped his gaze reflexively, mouth going dry as he came up short with responses.

          “You know, when what’s-his-face opened that weirdass gate cover thing, I saw him, and then you. And you know who I saw behind you?” Negan half-whispered gravely, his voice a level of somber Rick hadn’t expected him capable of, “Your kid. Standing in the middle of the road, glaring at me from the depths of goddamn hell. If looks could kill, I’d have been a steaming pile of ashes the second that cover slid open. If you thought you were angry, you should’ve seen him. Carl looked like he was about to fucking **detonate** , Rick. Lucky for you, that asian friend of yours led him away before he did anything, but it looked like the damage was already done.”

           Rick’s brain could only process that bit by bit. The color drained from his face, because Carl had most definitely been teetering on the verge of who-know-what. Whatever progress Rick had felt like they’d been making crumbled in an instant. Yesterday, Carl had smiled. Rick knew that didn’t mean everything would just be okay, but he had _smiled_. It had meant things were getting better. But now the Saviors were here, and Rick knew, he just _knew_ , that whatever it was that was plaguing Carl would come back at full force. Presumably, Glenn had taken Carl away before he did anything, but what had happened after that? If Carl wasn’t here, then Glenn must’ve convinced him to not do anything too rash. But it was too late. If Rick knew _anything_ about his son, it was that if Carl had fallen that far, he’d become a ticking time bomb. How much longer did they have?

          Negan cocked his head slightly, watching the storm of thoughts and emotions boil over within Rick’s eyes. That had hit him **_hard_** , if Negan did say so himself. But it was understandable, really.  Eventually, Rick’s gaze sharpened into focus, coming up to meet Negan’s.

          “Yeeeaah….” Negan murmured, inhaling sharply in a bitingly sardonic manner. He rocked back and forth on his heels, “So. Let’s do this again, Rick.”

          Negan leaned back and crossed his arms. Rick met him with a disconsolate yet somehow still defiant glare, eye twitching ever so slightly. Negan simply scoffed, licking his lips, and made a big show of clearing his throat. He repeated his earlier phrase in a smooth rumble, emphasizing each word to make a point

          “How’s your son?”

 

          A distant gunshot went off.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all know the drill. GIMME THAT FEEDBACK FAM. Comments, Suggestions/Requests, Kudos, all that good shit is more than welcomed! And remember, help me brainstorm for my fix-it if you wanna!  
> Also, should I stick with longer chapters or is shorter chapter thing okay?
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Hop on by and say hi at my tumblr: [angryeet](https://angryeet.tumblr.com/)


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